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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24810778">Secret Fantasy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aprilhw3/pseuds/Aprilhw3'>Aprilhw3</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire &amp; Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Modern AU, Mutual Pining, Sexual Tension</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:55:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>24,939</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24810778</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aprilhw3/pseuds/Aprilhw3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A naughty lingerie party. A secret fantasy. When bad boy Sandor Clegane finds a slip of paper left over from the party, he is surprised to discover that he is his long-time adversary‘s, good girl Sansa Stark’s, secret fantasy.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>168</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>365</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prairie_Garden_Girl/gifts">Prairie_Garden_Girl</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is just a quickie, 4 chapters, maybe 5. I’ll update every 3 days. Prairie_Garden_Girl, this is a gift for you, since I totally stole your Khal Drogo personal massage wand. 😈</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Describe your hottest, most secret fantasy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa Stark nibbled the eraser on her pencil as dozens of possibilities raced through her mind. Like most women, she’d entertained many a sexy scenario at one time or another in her private thoughts. They were okay, but the hottest? That implied special. Different. Her most secret longing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her gaze went to the woman who’d read the latest instruction in the ten-question test to win a basket of free body essentials—everything from chocolate body paint to a large purple Khal Drogo model personal massage wand. A smile tilted Sansa’s lips. Dressed in a sheer black lace teddy with matching garter and fishnet stockings, Shae was a walking advertisement for her newest moneymaking venture—Lyseni Pleasures. Pleasures was a direct to consumer business where women booked parties in their homes with their friends while their significant others were fishing or out of their homes with their friends. While the men got together and played cards, the women gathered to shop for risqué “marital aids” and gobble down finger foods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shae had arrived an hour ago, suitcase in hand, and put on quite a show, featuring a collection of racy lingerie, yummy body lotions and oils and even naughty “toys”.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa’s gaze lingered on the Lyseni Pleasures demonstrator. It wasn’t so much that Shae had an attractive body that stirred Sansa’s admiration. It was the fact that she sat on the edge of the bartop, calling out intimate questions without so much as a hint of self-consciousness. She was open and honest with her likes and dislikes, and she wasn’t the least bit embarrassed about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa glanced down at her own white button-up blouse, expensive but painfully low-key, her ultra-conservative gray skirt and her kitten-heeled pumps. A sigh vibrated up her throat. To have even half of Shae’s freedom. Now *that* was Sansa’s real fantasy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa scribbled her answer, grabbed a handful of popcorn and waited for the next question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, girls. Now I want you to describe the fine-ass hunk of man to go with that fantasy.” The instructions met with a round of hooting and hollering. “And don’t forget, the hottest description wins an extra door prize.” She held up a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs and winked. “To keep that man exactly where you want him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Sansa knew what she was doing, she started to write. This answer was a no-brainer, since she’d fantasized about the same man for as long as she could remember. It didn’t matter what sort of scenario she set up in her head—from a rough and tough cowboy to Tarzan himself—the man who played the lead always had the same long, dark hair, the same stormy gray eyes, the same lopsided smile, the same terrible scars covering nearly half of his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A flush of heat crept up her face as she wrote and she took a swallow of punch. Just thinking about him always generated the same effect. Heat. Lots of heat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The hard part is over,” Shae finally announced after a few more questions regarding setup for the fantasy and the appropriate clothing—if any. Her eyes gleamed as she rubbed her hands together. “Let’s hear the juicy details.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shae went around the bar, asking for volunteers to share their fantasies. Sansa bit her tongue and suppressed a strange sense of longing as she wadded up her piece of paper and tossed it into the nearest ashtray. She’d learned a long time ago not to waste her time wanting what she couldn’t have. She had her hands full as it was, walking the straight and narrow path as the daughter of Eddard and Catelyn Stark...the de facto leaders of local society.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Turning her attention back to Shae, she blinked her eyes against the sudden stabbing pain of an oncoming migraine and tried to concentrate on the scandalous answers being called out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t hear any naughty answers from you.” The comment came a half hour later from a tall blonde who wore a black tank top and shorts and a bar apron with The Blackwater Brewpub logo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The game had just ended and all the party attendees had disbursed, some crowding around Shae and filling in their order forms, while others nibbled on the snacks laid out across the bar top.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Naughty’ isn’t in my vocabulary.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it should be. You’re young and beautiful. You should be living it up.” Brienne fingered the pile of lingerie Shae had deposited in front of Sansa a few moments ago for her browsing pleasure. “Although I have to admit that some of this stuff gives new meaning to the word ‘naughty’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne Tarth had been the owner and operator of The Blackwater Brewpub for ten years, since her father—the previous owner—had retired and left his only daughter to carry on the business. Brienne continued to serve up the best drinks in town.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa’s gaze shot to her Aunt Lysa, who sat in the far corner and did her best to look appalled by the risqué items spread on the table before her. Sansa had no doubt Lysa had come out of pure nosiness. First thing tomorrow, she’d be on the phone to her friends, discussing tonight’s “disgraceful exhibition” at length.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa also knew she would be included in the gossip, but she could withstand a little heat if it meant seeing Brienne. Sansa had been so busy with her new job that she hadn't had time to get together with her friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Since arriving home a week ago, she’d had her hands full getting her office set up in the brand new Rosby Library. Brienne had been busy, as well, with preparations for the Rosby Car Cruise scheduled for this coming Sunday. The Car Cruise was an annual event where classic car owners from all the nearby towns gathered on Sunday afternoon to have a drive down the main strip through town. As the only bar owner in town, Brienne was responsible for providing the beer for the kickoff barbecue on Friday night, not to mention the campaign for Saturday Night’s Miss Rosby pageant. She’d been up to her armpits stocking supplies and Sansa had barely talked to her on the phone, much less seen her in person. Tonight had been the first chance for a face-to-face meeting. Sansa had flouted convention, closed up the library a few hours early and headed for the party.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d been friends since the first moment Sansa had found Brienne crying in the girls’ locker room after one of the boys had spread a nasty rumor about her. Everyone had believed the worst, Sansa included. Until she’d seen the pain in the girl’s eyes. As much as Sansa had been tempted to turn her back on Brienne for the sake of her own reputation, she hadn’t, despite her parents’ disapproval.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa’s parents had finally accepted the friendship, dismissing it as an act of charity on Sansa’s part. But Sansa hadn’t felt sorry for Brienne. She’d felt connected to her. She knew firsthand what it was like to be bullied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Brienne had always done her damnedest to live up to everyone’s expectations, Sansa had lived up to her family’s. She was every bit a cultured, refined Stark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t be able to breathe in some of this stuff.” Brienne fingered a teddy with the tiniest straps Sansa had ever seen. “Personally—” she lifted her own ample bosom and shot a wink in Lysa’s direction “—I need more support for these babies.” Her aunt flushed a bright red and averted her gaze. Brienne gave a satisfied smirk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa tried to hide her smile. “You really shouldn’t do that. You’ll likely send her blood pressure soaring, and at her age I don’t think that’s a good thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She shouldn’t be so nosy and you—” Brienne pinned Sansa with a stare “—shouldn’t worry what those old busybodies think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But those busybodies were family and her parents’ friends. She blinked against another twinge from her building migraine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa studied the lacy little bras before picking one in particular. “What do you think?” She pulled out her checkbook and dashed off a check. “I like this red myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Careful, Lady Stark. Otherwise the whole town will know that beneath that conservative suit lurks the heart of a wildling.” The deep raspy voice came from directly behind Sansa and sent a wash of familiar heat skimming her nerve endings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Please, Gods, no. The prayer echoed through her head for a long, breathless moment before she accepted what a hopeless cause it was. She’d spent her entire high school career praying the same desperate plea and not once had Sandor Clegane ever miraculously disappeared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her gaze snapped to the wall-length mirror behind the bar and she caught her first glimpse of the man himself. Man being the key word. Gone was the tall, lanky boy she remembered. Sandor stood directly behind her, wearing faded, tattered jeans, a black T-shirt that emphasized a broad chest and heavily muscled biceps, and a lopsided smile that caused heat to build low in her belly. The too long, dark hair, combed to ineffectively cover his scars, that had always been his trademark was the same, but his features were stronger, more mature, more masculine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gathered her courage and drew in a deep, fortifying breath, determined to calm the sudden pounding of her heart. She’d known this moment was coming. Rosby was a small town and a meeting was inevitable. “For your information, this—” she fingered the lacey lingerie “—is for a friend of mine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gave her a knowing smirk. “That’s what they all say, little bird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stepped closer and plucked a bottle from her hand. “Magical Mango Massage Oil, He read in a low, husky voice, “Enjoy sensual massage even more with this edible, intensifying massage oil enhanced with the powerful sexual allure of pheromones. Feel the passion build with Lyseni Pleasures’ exclusive Pheromone Massage Oil. Leaves skin soft, smooth and infused with the tropical taste of luscious mango!” He cocked his only eyebrow at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She snatched the bottle of oil back, face flaming as red as her hair, and sputtered, “I’ll have you know, that’s got very emollient properties.” He barked out a laugh. She narrowed her gaze. “What are you doing here? This party is for ladies only, and my name is Sansa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I’m definitely at the right place.” He gave her a wink. “If you’re going for the red—” he reached around her and picked up a matching pair of barely there red panties “—you might want to add these for the complete effect.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going for the red. It’s not for me, and I see you’re still butting into other people’s business,” she said through clenched teeth as she yanked the panties from his very large hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need your advice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” He leaned close, so close that she could feel the whisper of his warm breath at her temple. “Then what do you need?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You. Me. Naked. The answers rushed through her head and sent a wash of heat through her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her blue eyes flashed, her cheeks flushed a passionate red, making his cock stir. He leaned back just enough to give her some breathing room. Thankfully. “Now here’s my favorite.” He reached past her to finger a purple pair of thong panties. His arm brushed hers and electricity shot through her body, the same way it always had whenever he’d touched her. With a huff, she turned from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brienne,” she called out to the woman standing at the far end of the bar. “I’ll see you for lunch tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure thing, sweetie.” Brienne waved her off and resumed filling the punch bowl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor’s fingers closed over her arm just as she was about to make a quick getaway. “Don’t forget your lingerie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She ignored the tingling where his skin met hers and concentrated on gathering up her purchases. “For the last time, it’s not mine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever you say.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not.” She wasn’t sure why she felt so compelled to persuade him. Reputation, she told herself. She didn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea. Even Sandor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Especially Sandor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Red is definitely your color.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I think you ought to try these.” He fingered the purple thong panties he’d singled out earlier. “Those old bitches down at the country club would ostracize you for sure if they got a glimpse of these. You’d definitely ruin that Miss Priss image you work so fucking hard to maintain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa narrowed her gaze. “Are you naturally this obnoxious, or do you have to practice a lot?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugged. “What can I say? You bring out the best in me, Princess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wanted to say something, but nothing snappy came to mind. Not with him standing so close and overwhelming her common sense. She shook her head and turned on her heel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sweet dreams, Little Bird” His voice followed her, a deep, husky sound that stirred the heat in her belly almost as much as her annoyance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Sansa had promised herself a long time ago that she would never, ever be a slave to her lust for Sandor Clegane.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Never again, that is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d fallen victim once before, a moment of weakness that had nearly cost her everything. Her pride. Her self-respect. Her reputation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would never, ever happen again.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>━━━━༺❀༻━━━━<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor Clegane had never considered himself a religious man, but as he watched Sansa walk away from him, her head high and her back stiff, he knew without a doubt that the Gods existed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only divine beings could have created something as downright delectable as that woman.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gray linen tugged and pulled against her hips, molding to Sansa’s bottom with each step, causing his groin to tighten. He’d always loved to watch her walk. They’d lived on opposite sides of town, but the route from the school, down the main strip through town had been the same. He could still see her headed home, her long, red hair pulled back in a ponytail, her cheerleader skirt swishing with each step. He’d been so hot for her back then, which was why he’d done his best to convince her otherwise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the name of pride, of course.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d put himself on the line once, hoping against hope that a beautiful girl like Sansa could actually like an ugly guy like him. She’d turned him down for the eighth-grade dance, proving what everybody had been telling him since he’d been old enough to spell his last name. Namely that girls—nice, wholesome, good girls like Sansa Stark—didn’t waste their time on the Cleganes of the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His father had not only made a reputation for himself with his boozing and fighting, but he’d forever marked his three children. The Clegane kids had been labeled “bad” well before any of them had ever thought of taking a drink. It was no wonder that Sandor and his two older siblings had started to live up to everyone’s expectations. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few years after he had pushed his brother’s face in the fire, Gregor had gone to prison for beating a man nearly to death. Sandor had been a hellion through middle and high school, and he’d been headed down the same road after graduation. Then Nick Clegane had wrapped his car around a telephone pole after a particularly heavy night of boozing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor had watched them lower his father into the ground and vowed to change his ways. But while he could work his way through school and get his degree, open his construction business and put his own carousing ways behind him, he couldn’t change the blood that flowed through his veins. He was Nick Clegane’s son, and no matter that Sandor now lived a respectable life, for some people it just wasn’t enough. People like Eddard and Catelyn Stark, their sexy as fuck daughter and her siblings, and their hoity-toity friends down at the elite Rosby Country Club.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even so, he wanted her. He had way back then and, if the sudden thunder of his heart was any indication, the effect had only intensified.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Penny for your thoughts.” Brienne Tarth’s voice pushed inside his head and drew him around. She took one look at his face, and said, “On second thought, my fire extinguisher’s out back and I don’t have enough water on tap to put out what’s burning in those big gray eyes of yours.” Her gaze went to the doorway where Sansa had just disappeared. “She looks good, doesn’t she?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugged. “Older.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly. Older and more mature. More filled out and shape—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have my order ready?” he cut in, eager to get off the subject of how well Sansa filled out her otherwise boring gray skirt and that blouse and…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook away the vision and tried to ignore the growing hard-on making his jeans a bit tighter than was comfortable. “We’re pulling a late shift over at the Varys House and my crew is hungry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His guys at Triple Dog Construction weren’t the only ones with an appetite. Sandor himself wanted sustenance. A different sort than the giant sandwiches Brienne’s bar had become famous for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was hungry for a curvy redhead with deep blue eyes that glittered in the moonlight when he stroked the underside of her soft, round breasts…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne gave him a knowing wink. “Be right out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slid into the seat Sansa had vacated and tried to ignore the scent of her perfume that lingered in the air. Of their own accord, his nostrils flared and he found himself drinking in the subtle aroma of warm woman and lemony vanilla perfume that lingered in the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck, she even smelled the same. Worse, she affected him as intensely as ever. Just one whiff of her and he wanted another. And another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crazy. It had been ten fucking years. Plenty of time for Sandor to have gotten over his godsdamned crush on her. A crush. That’s all it had been. At least that’s what he tried to convince himself whenever his memories got the best of him and he found himself thinking about her. Wanting her. Needing her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as the thought hit him, his cell phone rang.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clegane, here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got one word for you—aqua.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Varys?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And not just a plain, ordinary aqua,” the man rushed on, confirming Sandor’s question. Varys was always more interested in what he himself had to say, rather than what came out of anyone else’s mouth. He was one of a new breed migrating from the city into the surrounding countryside. A wannabe gentleman farmer with soft hands. The problem was, Varys and the others like him brought the city with them. Rather than settling on a traditional farmhouse and getting their hands dirty, they built oversized, fancy mini-mansions with tennis courts and swimming pools.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that Sandor was complaining. Thanks to the recent influx, he’d watched his business grow from a one trailer construction operation to a major company with development projects throughout the Crownlands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Petyr Baelish has a similar shade of mauve in his kitchen,” Varys continued. “So it’s out of the question for us to stick with that color. Why, we entertain the same group of friends. Whatever would they say?” Without waiting for a response, he rushed on. “I want the pale, blue aqua featured in last month’s center layout in Kings Landing Elite. So you have to change it. Now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor ignored the rush of anger that coursed through him, along with the urge to tell Mr. Varys what he could do with his new tile, his new house, his indecisiveness and the latest copy of his fancy magazine. But whether Sandor liked it or not, he’d made a promise. Sure, Varys kept breaking his end of the agreement with constant changes. But that didn’t mean Sandor had to break his. He’d given his word as a businessman that he would bring the project in on time and he intended to do just that. Satisfaction was his motto, even if Varys decided on polka-dot tile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s catalog number 9374626—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait a second,” Sandor cut in. “Let me get something to write on.” He fished in his pocket for a pen, then glanced around for a stray piece of paper, a cocktail napkin, something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seconds ticked by before his gaze finally lit on a wadded-up piece of paper sitting in a nearby ashtray. As he snatched up the trash and unfolded it, Sansa’s scent grew stronger and his nostrils flared again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A crush, he told himself yet again. A crazy, fucking crush that was best forgotten.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was that again?,” Sandor said, forcing his thoughts away from Sansa and her scent and the unsated lust for her still pulsing through his veins, and concentrated on scribbling the number Varys recited to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure this time?” He asked the same question he’d asked the last time, and the time before that when Varys had changed his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Positive. Baelish is much too busy to read Kings Landing Elite, though I’m sure he subscribes.” A click sounded as Varys hung up. Sandor took a deep breath, forced his fingers to loosen around the cell phone and dialed the number for his foreman at the Varys site.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop laying the tile,” he told Gendry Waters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But we’re already done.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then start pulling it up. Varys changed his mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Imagine that.” A colorful curse erupted on the other end of the line. “We’ve already put in three days laying this pink shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s mauve, and the customer is always right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Usually, unless the customer is a nutty, uppity asshole like Mr, Varys. He thinks that just because he has money, he can make you dance to his tune. Why, if it were me, I’d take a piece of this tile and shove it right where the sun don’t shine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it wasn’t up to Gendry. Nor was it his name or reputation at stake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just pull up the tile,” he said before hanging up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He folded the paper and shoved it, along with his cell phone, into his pocket just as Brienne walked up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enjoy,” she said as she handed him two large brown bags and took the money he offered her. “And don’t be such a stranger.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t mean to be, but I’ve got my hands full.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I heard you’re doing the new Varys place. Lucky for him. Not so lucky for you. He’s a butthead at times.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Try all the time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But he’s a butthead with a pocket full of dragons, so it makes him a little bearable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The urge to argue hit him hard and fast, but he resisted. Brienne was right and it was a smart man who recognized it. He’d fought the truth for a very long time. But he was older and wiser now. He wasn’t a naive kid who thought a two-dragon corsage would be good enough for the town’s princess.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A bitter smile twisted his lips as he remembered the wilting blue rose he’d bought at the market just an hour before he’d worked up the nerve to ask Sansa to the dance. She’d said no, of course, and so the rose never made it out of the plastic bag. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead she’d worn a two-rose corsage with ribbon and tiny gold things given to her by the golden boy, Joffrey Baratheon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And damned if she hadn’t looked so pretty his heart had actually flipped. A reaction that had sent a bolt of anger through him. And so, he’d dumped his punch on her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That one action had started the animosity that had continued throughout high school and kept them at each other’s throats, right up until the night before Sansa had left for college.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things had been different that night. She’d been different. And for a few sweet moments, he’d come close to living out his hottest fantasy—Sansa Stark. Naked and panting and moaning and his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All his, if only for a night.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A little more of their history and a whole lot more tension.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“This is definitely the stuff fantasies are made of.” Sansa said to herself as she fingered the red bra she’d purchased and tried to ignore the burst of longing that shot through her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, it was pretty. But she wasn’t the red bra type. Or the pink. Or the electric blue. Or any of the other colors Shae had put on display. Even if she secretly wanted to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Being a Stark was about pride and dignity and maintaining self-respect—and no self-respecting Stark would be caught dead wearing racy lingerie. While most mothers worried over the proverbial clean underwear, Sansa’s mother had been more concerned with her daughter being scraped off the pavement wearing something tasteful and befitting the daughter of the town’s oldest family.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa fingered the lace once more, steadfastly ignoring the twinge of longing and folded the tissue paper back into place. This couldn’t be for her, no matter how much she wanted it, or how much Sandor Clegane had insisted otherwise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d been the ugliest and most irritating boy at Rosby High School. Ever since middle school, not a day had gone by where he hadn’t been there taunting her, teasing her and driving her absolutely insane. He’d sat behind her in English class and pulled her hair. He’d sat in the front row at each and every football game and jeered at her while she cheered. He’d even shot a spit wad at her while she’d done her darndest to spell ’locquacious’, finding its mark right in the middle of her forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d made her high school years miserable, and she’d lusted after him anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then and now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that she was going to act on the attraction. She was going to keep her distance and her perspective and her reputation. In real life, that is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As for her fantasies…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fantasy being the key word, she reminded herself. She could dream all she wanted. After all, Sandor made one hells of a Tarzan. And a tall, dark and delicious cowboy. And an even sexier pirate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But remembering…That was something she wasn’t about to do. No thinking about the one night when she’d thrown caution to the wind and discovered what it had felt like to be held and touched and kissed by Sandor Clegane.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook her head, freeing herself from the memories. No, remembering was definitely out of the question.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>━━━━༺❀༻━━━━</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s right,” Sandor sat at his desk and recited the catalog number for the new tile. “I need the shipment sent out first thing tomorrow. Same day service.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure thing, but it’ll cost you,” the man on the other end of the phone told him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just get it here,” He growled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After giving the necessary information for the order, Sandor hung up the phone, leaned back in his chair and rubbed his tired eyes. It was late and he needed to turn in, but the big empty bed didn’t hold much appeal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not after he’d crossed paths with Sansa Stark for the first time in ten years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It might as well have been ten minutes. His reaction to her was as fierce as ever. As fucking insane. She was still way out of his league.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment the thought struck, he forced it away. Maybe they weren’t an exact match, but it had nothing to do with Sansa being better than he was. Things had changed. Sandor wasn’t the poor kid who lived in the run-down house where passersby invariably heard the shouting, screaming and crying from inside most nights…the one that every cop in town knew the address to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His gaze spanned the surrounding office and a sense of pride filled him. The room, like the rest of the large ranch house that sat on several hundred acres just outside of town, boasted the best of everything, from the handwoven Myrish rug covering the hardwood floor to the simple, but expensive brown leather sofa that sat against the far wall. It wasn’t anything fancy like the houses over on the “good” side of town, particularly the sprawling mansion where Sansa had grown up. This place was very casual and comfortable, but also tasteful and well-furnished. And more importantly, it was peaceful and it was his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No broken windows or peeling paint, no leaking ceiling or worn carpet. He’d come a long way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So why the hells did he feel like the same horny teenager with the battered leather jacket who’d lusted after her from afar?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t get a chance to dwell on the question. A shrill ring nearly busted his eardrums and he bolted to his feet. He reached the front door, opening it to an ancient-looking woman wearing a pink crocheted sweater and matching coral lipstick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s broken again,” Edith declared as she punched madly at the alarm system.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not broken. You entered the wrong code.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nonsense. I know this thing like the back of my hand. It’s 95473.”</span>
</p><p>“That’s 95173.”</p><p>
  <span>“When did you change it?”</span>
</p><p>“I didn’t change it. It’s always been a 1.”</p><p>
  <span>“Nonsense. As the Smith is my witness, I punched in a 4 yesterday and it worked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It couldn’t have worked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you doubting the Smith?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, ma’am. It’s just that—”</span>
</p><p>“Listen here, Sandor Clegane.” She pinned him with a scolding stare and a crooked pointed finger. “I don’t take too kindly to folks blaspheming the Gods, and doubt is blasphemy if ever I heard it.”</p><p>
  <span>“Is that a new sweater you’ve got on?”</span>
</p><p>Her tirade stopped as she glanced down. “Why, this old thing? I’ve had it for ages.”</p><p>“Well, it’s awfully pretty.”</p><p>
  <span>“It </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> my favorite.” She blushed and smiled. “It’s the color, you know. I just love coral.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Coral is definitely your color, Miss Edith,” he said as he glanced at his watch. “Aren’t you missing your show...Tormund, Northern Ranger?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edith adjusted her thick glasses and peered at her own watch. “Oh, my goodness, you’re right.” She blew out an exasperated breath. “But I’ve still got to unload the dishwasher. And then there’s the laundry in the dryer that needs folding.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hear Kristofer Hivju is going to fight without his shirt tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes widened behind the bifocals. “No shirt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And no boots. Seems he gets interrupted by some scumball Braavosi drug runner...while he’s in the shower.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The shower, you say?” She asked breathlessly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And not one of those single stall jobs. This one’s huge, with sliding glass doors so he’s got plenty of room to flex his muscles.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Excitement leapt into her eyes for a split second before her face fell. “You don’t have any clean shirts for tomorrow. I’ve been meaning to get to that pile of shirts in the hamper all day today.” The same way she’d meant to get to his pants yesterday. The same way she’d meant to dust the living room the day before that. And vacuum the day before that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As a housekeeper, Edith, with her arthritic knees and her poor eyesight and her bad memory, wouldn’t come close to winning the Merry Maid Olympics held in Kings Landing every June. But as a person, she’d walked away with the gold more times than he could count.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stared down at the woman who’d fed him so many times when his dad had been too drunk to see straight, much less work, and the cupboard had been bare. She would call him over on some thinly veiled pretext to help her clean out her highest cabinets, or move heavy furniture so she could clean behind and under it. Then she would sit him down at her table and set a full plate in front of him or make him taste-test a batch of cookies as payment, keeping his pride intact. She hadn’t had much, but what she’d had, she’d graciously shared. She was a good woman with a kind heart and he’d promised himself a long time ago that he would pay her back one day. And Sandor always kept his promises.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll muddle through with what’s in the closet. Besides, it’s too late to be slaving away doing laundry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, It </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> past quitting time.” She cast one last glance at the now silent alarm before frowning. “The next time you change that code, you make sure to tell me. I almost went deaf. Don’t you go thinking you’re too old or too big for me to take a switch to that hind end of yours, young man!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opened his mouth to tell her for the thousandth time that he hadn’t changed anything, but all that came out was a raspy, sheepish “Yes, ma’am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor watched Edith hobble toward the living room before he headed back to his office. He wasn’t anywhere close to quitting time, himself. He still had to call his foreman and give him the new delivery information. Then he had to finish the expense sheets he’d just exceeded, yet again. Then…The list was never ending.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drew in a deep breath and settled back down at his desk, determined to get his mind back on the job. Just the job. He wasn’t going to think about Sansa, or how sexy she’d looked tonight in her buttoned-up, straight-laced librarian disguise, or how he’d wanted to reach out and touch her and kiss her and—</span>
</p><p>Wait a second.</p><p>
  <span>His thoughts skidded to a halt as his gaze snagged on the wrinkled paper he’d written Varys’ new order on at the bar. The words ‘My secret fantasy’ jumped out at him and stalled the air in his lungs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, it really wasn’t the words, written neatly in black ink with an efficient underline, that stopped him cold for a long, breathless moment. It was the double S embossed on the top of the sheet of paper and the faint scent of warm, sexy woman that wafted through his nostrils. Before he could stop himself, he lifted the paper to his nose and took a deep breath. The aroma grew stronger, confirming the truth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was her notepaper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her words. Her fantasy. Her fantasy man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her fantasy man?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>100% fucking impossible. Even as he read the description, he told himself it was just wishful thinking. Sure, he had a tattoo in that exact spot on his bicep. That had to be a coincidence. But what about the long hair...and the scars? That was definitely *not* a fucking coincidence. But Sansa couldn’t stand him. Sure, she’d lusted after him. Once. While that night was still fresh in his mind, he’d been certain she hadn’t given it a second thought. After all, she’d chickened out at the very end and left him with a massive hard-on.</span>
</p><p>While he still wanted her after all this time, no way did she want him.</p><p>Or did she?</p><p>
  <span>The truth sank in as he read and reread the paper. She did. She really wanted him.</span>
</p><p>But even though she would allow herself the attraction in her most private thoughts, she wouldn’t act on that attraction. Her hands-off attitude tonight confirmed that.</p><p>
  <span>She was a Stark, and he was the youngest offspring of no-good, no-account Nick Clegane. Brother of brutal Gregor. There would be no happily ever afters between a woman like Sansa Stark and a man like Sandor Clegane. But lust…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe. Maybe not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was always the possibility that he was wrong, that someone else had written the words, that Sansa despised him every bit now as she had way back when. That’s why she’d stopped things before they’d gone all the way. Because she’d come to her senses and realized she didn’t want to make love to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or maybe she’d wanted it too much and that fact had scared her into putting a stop to it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe…</span>
</p><p>There was only one way to find out.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>━━━━༺❀༻━━━━</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sansa, sweetheart, I’m so glad you’ve finally come home where you belong.” her mother’s voice came sharply through the speakerphone. “It’s time you take up your rightful place in society. I’ve already got you signed up in the Rosby Garden Society and the Women’s Charity League. I also want you on this year’s Sevenmas committee.” Sansa tuned her mother out as she went on and on about all the different ways that Sansa could “do credit to the Stark name” now that she’d come home and accepted her new job. And she would do her best to please her parents, even if it did cause her a major headache.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Someone just came in, Mom. I’ve got to go. Love you, byeee,” she said quickly as she hung up. She blinked her eyes against a sudden blinding shot of pain to her temples. The signs of her daily migraine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Close to the end of the day, she was working on filling and organizing her filing cabinet when her father’s voice drew her attention. “Knock, knock.” Ned Stark entered her office bearing a ginormous bouquet of flowers in a riot of colors. “Oh, Daddy, you shouldn’t have!” Sansa exclaimed as she took the proffered flowers and set them on the credenza. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I should have. Nothing but the best for my little girl. Your mother and I are so glad you’ve come back home, kitten,” Ned said happily as he hugged her tightly. “We’re so proud of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that all her chicks had flown and her home was an empty nest, her mother had been campaigning hard for Sansa to come home and accept the librarian position in the new Rosby Library that Stark money had helped to build. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And accept it she had, vowing to make them proud, just as she always had. Throughout her childhood, she’d done everything in her power to become the lady her mother wanted her to be. She’d spent her time studying, determined to be as smart, as educated as every other Stark before her. She’d watched her mother diligently, learning the appropriate way to walk and talk and eat. She’d made friends with the elite of Rosby and stayed away from any and everyone who wasn't.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An image, of gray eyes, a lopsided smile and enough male heat to send her body into major meltdown rushed to the forefront of her mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor Clegane.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d felt the attraction for as long as she could remember—his smile, the warmth of his eyes, the understanding, the connection.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d both been tormented relentlessly by bullies. Sandor for his threadbare clothes, his family, and for his scars...Sansa because she had wet her pants the first day of kindergarten when she was too scared to ask the teacher if she could go to the bathroom. The first few years of school, Sansa had been harassed by Ramsey Bolton, the son of one of her father's friends. He pushed her and called her names, laughing at her, making all the other kids laugh at her...except for one. Sandor never laughed at her, not once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that he’d ever said anything nice to her. He’d been too tough to say anything nice. But his actions had spoken much louder than any words of comfort he might have offered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could still remember sitting on the school steps after Ramsey had stolen her lunch, her stomach growling while she watched the other kids eat theirs. Sandor hadn’t had much, just one banana and a soggy peanut butter and jelly sandwich, but he’d shared both with her. She’d liked him from then on. He protected her when he could, told her about his scars and a little of his home life. She packed extra in her lunch bag to share with him</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even as they got older, the like had continued, much to her dismay. After Ramsey moved away and the bullying stopped, she’d wanted to erase the past and pretend she’d never been an outcast. Starks were leaders...they commanded respect. Most of all, she’d wanted to forget how good that sandwich had tasted and how thankful and happy and protected she’d felt for those few moments as she’d sat next to Sandor on the schoolhouse steps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d tried. She’d gone her own way, making friends with the right kids. She wore the nicest clothes and walked the halls with the other “haves” while Sandor spent his time with the “have-nots.” He’d been a rebel and an outcast with his shabby jeans and holey T-shirts and kiss-my-ass attitude. They’d been worlds apart back then, but every time he’d looked at her, the memory of the schoolhouse steps had bubbled up and she’d felt a consuming warmth. So consuming that when bad boy Sandor had crossed the line between the haves and the have-nots and actually asked her to the eighth-grade dance, she’d come so close to saying yes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Too close.</span>
</p><p>Not wanting to risk her parents’ disapproval, she’d turned him down. But it had been hard. And the best thing she’d ever done. Her rejection had been enough to anger Sandor and so he’d stopped being nice to her. That very night he’d dumped his punch all over her and started the feud that proved her only saving grace throughout high school.</p><p>
  <span>Her hormones had raged so fiercely back then and if he’d been nice…She would have given in to her lust for him long before the night of her going-away party.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pushed the sudden image of Sandor hovering over her, his deep gray eyes glittering down on her, to the farthest corner of her mind and tried to concentrate on what her father was saying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“…your mother and I are really looking forward to this trip. It’s been a long time since we’ve been able to get away, just the two of us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you deserve to unwind a little,” she said, turning her full attention to the brochures for the resort he had laid on her desk. “This weekend will be like a second honeymoon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not a weekend. It’s a full week. Actually it starts on Friday,” he told her as he turned to go. “Come have dinner with us Thursday, if you have time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d love to, Daddy. Good night...sweet dreams,” she said as he turned and left her to get back to work.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>━━━━༺❀༻━━━━</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Looks like you owe me, little bird.”</span>
</p><p>The deep voice sent a shiver up her spine. Her hand tightened on the drawer pull of the file cabinet as her body went on instant alert; the hair on her arms tingled, her hands trembled, her nipples pebbled. She forced her fingers to let go and fought for a nice, easy breath.</p><p>
  <span>Nice and easy. That was the key where Sandor Clegane was concerned. She knew that, but darned if her body wanted to agree. The last thing she considered him, with his rough, appealing looks and his deep, bone melting voice, was nice. As for easy… Nothing about him was easy, especially her reaction to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She let out her breath slowly and turned to her office door, which he casually leaned against with crossed arms. “For the last time, my name is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> little bird, and how do you figure I owe you?” She snapped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I distinctly remember giving you good advice last night.” His gray eyes twinkled as he grinned at her. He straightened and stalked slowly towards her, backing her into the desk. He stood far too close for her comfort as one tanned finger touched the collar of her blouse, just the barest whisper of flesh against soft silk. Her heart pounded faster.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re passing on my words of wisdom to your father, so I figure I ought to get a little kickback for coming up with them in the first place.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I doubt you coined the phrase ‘sweet dreams,’ and the last I heard, you charged for sheetrock and architectural plans, not words of wisdom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He winked. “You get to be my first customer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lucky me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You haven’t gotten lucky yet, little bird, but I’m working on it.” He slowly bent to eye level with her and put his hands on the desk, causing her to lean back, trapped between his strong arms. She audibly swallowed and looked at him with wide eyes. He smiled wolfishly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice, so soft and teasing, put every nerve in Sansa’s body on high alert.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soft and teasing?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor taunted and annoyed and stirred her anger even more than he stirred her hormones. Usually. But he was different now. He was soft and teasing and…nice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, Gods, no.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You okay, babe? You look a little—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—sick?” She nodded vigorously. “Yeah, suddenly I feel a little sick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry to hear that, but I was thinking more that you looked a little...hot.”</span>
</p><p>“No.” She ran a finger beneath the edge of her collar and tried to calm the panic rushing through her. “I’m fine. Really,” she squeaked.</p><p>
  <span>“No, you’re not. Here, let me help.” One large, tanned hand went to undo the top button of her blouse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa’s first instinct should have been to swat his hand away. There were still people in the library. She could hear their hushed voices and scuffled footsteps on the carpet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Surprisingly the sounds didn’t stir the expected bolt of panic. They fed her excitement. Her heart thundered and her blood pumped faster as Sandor moved to the second button on her blouse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, you definitely feel hot,” he said, his fingertips brushing her skin again. “Don’t you, Sansa?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her lips parted, the truth poised on the tip of her tongue. She paused, breathless.</span>
</p><p>“I…I’m fine with all my buttons in place,” she finally said.</p><p>Okay, so he was being nice. She was a grown woman now. Not a young, naive teenage slave to her hormones. She could handle this.</p><p>
  <span>She gathered her courage, forced a deep breath and pushed him. She rebuttoned her blouse beneath his watchful stare, as he took one small step back. “What are you doing here?” she asked, eager to divert his attention from the motion of her trembling fingers.</span>
</p><p>“I had some building permits to pick up across the street.”</p><p>
  <span>“Then why are you on this side?”</span>
</p><p>“There are two reasons for that.”</p><p>
  <span>“Which are?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The barbecue kickoff for the Car Cruise is Friday night. This year’s proceeds are going to the Randall family. Their 3 year old daughter has leukemia and the medical bills are eating them alive. I’ve got an extra ticket, so I thought I’d pass one on to you.” He held up the ticket</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were asking me out on a date.”</span>
</p><p>Some unnameable something flashed in his eyes before they crinkled at the corners and he grinned. “The bigger the crowd, the more money raised.”</p><p>
  <span>She ignored a crazy twinge of disappointment. It wasn’t as if she wanted him to ask her out. She wanted him to keep his distance so she could keep her sanity. She wasn’t losing her head again the way she had the night she’d walked away from her going-away party...straight into Sandor Clegane’s strong arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I forgot, you’re not into the dating scene.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And neither are you. At least not with me,” he went on before sliding the ticket into her shirt pocket. “Except once, that is.” His fingertips lingered just above the lace edge of her bra.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That wasn’t a date. That was just—”</span>
</p><p>“—lust,” he finished for her. “You wanted me.”</p><p>
  <span>She wanted to refute his words, but that would be inviting trouble he could always tell when she was lying. Besides, he was right. She had wanted him. She’d wanted him her entire life and that one night, she’d indulged herself. For a little while, anyway. Thankfully, she’d wised up before they’d actually done it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thing was, standing there with him so close, so warm, so darned male, she didn’t feel nearly as thankful as she should have. The only thing she felt was regret.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook away the notion and inhaled some much-needed oxygen. “So,” she managed to say after licking her lips and clearing her throat, “what’s the second reason you’re over here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His smile widened and he shrugged. “What can I say? My curiosity got the best of me.”</span>
</p><p>“What are you talking about?”</p><p>
  <span>“Did you?”</span>
</p><p>He stepped closer yet again.</p><p>“Did I what?” She whispered breathlessly.</p><p>“Have sweet dreams?” he murmured.</p><p>
  <span>The question stirred a dozen images from the past. Bodies touching. Mouths tasting. Hands exploring…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She cleared her throat. “I, um, slept quite nicely, thank you very much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not what I’m talking about, little bird. When you went home and slid into that slinky little red bra and panties, did they inspire sweet dreams? Did the Magical Mango Massage Oil satisfy your...hunger?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you. They weren’t for me.”</span>
</p><p>“But you at least thought about putting them on.”</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes widened once again. How did he know?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if he read her mind, he grinned. “I didn’t know. I took a guess and the flush creeping up your neck is answer enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really have to get back to work.” Before she could push him away again, he stepped back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So do I.” He glanced at his watch before his heated gaze locked with hers once again. “I’ll see you Friday.” He hooked a strand of wayward auburn hair behind her ear and the refusal stalled in her throat for several frantic heartbeats.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Friday’s no good,” she finally said, once he’d turned to saunter toward the door. Gods, he really did have the sauntering thing down to an art form. Blue denim pushed and pulled in just the right places, accenting his muscular thighs...not to mention that prime, grade A ass. Only one word came to mind. Yum.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“…casual,” he was saying. “You don’t have to dress up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook her head, eager to clear the lust and gather what little common sense she still had. “I’m not dressing at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tossed a blazing glance over his shoulder as he reached the door. “Fine by me, little bird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-no,” she sputtered, wishing he couldn’t render her senseless with just one look. “I mean I’m not dressing for the occasion because I’m not going. I appreciate the ticket and everything, but I’m busy that night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t say anything. He simply gave her a wink and reached for the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m serious. I really am busy and I’m not—” The sound of the door closing punctuated her refusal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—going,” she finished despite the fact that she was alone in the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alone. Yet she could still smell him. The scent of soap and leather and sawdust filled her nostrils and kept her heart pounding long after the sound of his footsteps had disappeared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pounding, of all things, proof that the real Sandor was every bit as powerful as the one who lived and breathed in her fantasies. The one who touched and teased and made her forget everything except the feel of him.</span>
</p><p>Everything.</p><p>
  <span>But Sansa wasn’t in the safety of her bedroom, lost in another delicious dream. Just a dream, with no repercussions. She was out in public for all to see. And she wasn’t going to any barbecue cook-off on Friday night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No matter how much she suddenly wanted to.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Hopeless. That’s what it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa came to that conclusion over the next few days as she did her best to ignore Sandor Clegane.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Impossible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every time she glanced over her shoulder, he was there. Having lunch at the diner where she ate her salad every day at noon. At the coffee shop where she picked up her caramel macchiato every morning on her way to work. At the grocery store when she stopped off for a package of Mega-Stuff Oreos—a girl had to get a little satisfaction one way or another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before she’d come home, her erotic thoughts had been enough to relieve daily stress. But now that she’d seen Sandor alive and in the flesh again, no amount of fantasizing could relieve the frustration that built with each passing day. The fantasies weren’t enough anymore. She wanted the real man, even more than she’d wanted him way back when.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa stood in her kitchen Friday evening and did her best to ignore the thought. She grabbed a box of bonbons and an extra-large glass of red wine and headed for the sofa.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While the chocolates hadn’t helped, she had to keep trying. Otherwise…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was *not* going to the barbecue cook-off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Settling on the sofa, she flipped on the TV and scrolled through the Netflix guide for the next few minutes as she popped several candies into her mouth and tried to summon some excitement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Talk about an ideal Friday evening. Or it would have been if she hadn’t worked so hard the past few days that she didn’t have enough to keep her occupied for more than an hour or so. More importantly, she’d had half a box of bonbons and still felt as hungry, as needy, as restless as ever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She popped another candy into her mouth and chewed. Okay, so maybe she would go. Just for a little while. After all, it was the Car Cruise barbecue kickoff. A tradition in Rosby. Not to mention, the proceeds really were for a good cause. It wasn’t as if she’d be going just to see Sandor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why, she might not even see him at all. No doubt, there would be a lot of people there. The entire town, most likely. Odds were that she could sit there an entire evening and not even catch a glimpse of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least that’s what Sansa told herself. Now if she only believed it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>━━━━༺❀༻━━━━</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Forget the aqua blue ceramic tile. I want sunshine citrus now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor pulled the now tattered sheet of paper from his shirt pocket, crossed off the shipment of aqua, penciled in the new color, and ignored the urge to tell Varys what he could do with his new tile and his new house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, and please be absolutely sure that it’s a lighter sunshine citrus, not the deep citrus. The deep citrus makes me look tired and sallow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor swallowed the dozen or so sarcastic comments that rushed to the tip of his tongue and grumbled, “No problem.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.” Mr. Varys rubbed his hands together. “I’ll talk to you when the project is closer to completion. I’m off to the Summer Isles for the next few weeks, so it will have to be after that. Oh—” he glanced at his pocket planner “—then I’m off to Pentos to catch up with a friend, so make that four weeks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Four entire weeks with no changes?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One could only hope.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Speaking of hope…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor glanced around the crowded fairgrounds hall. The place was still brightly lit, the dance floor filled with clusters of people who stood around talking, waiting for the music to start. The band unloaded in the far corner, getting ready to play once everyone had finished eating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone, except a certain sexy redhead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced down at the paper where he’d scribbled the new tile colors, turned the sheet over and read the words again, the way he’d done each and every time he started to think that maybe he’d imagined the vivid description, the desperate longing, the need.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, maybe he wasn’t the man in the fantasy. Maybe Sansa hadn’t even written the damned thing. Maybe she wasn’t even remotely attracted to him with his rough ways and his mangled face. Maybe he’d made a Complete ass of himself by inviting her here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s what he was inclined to think. But he couldn’t forget the dark, passionate look in her eyes when he’d cornered her in her office. The way she’d licked her lips and flushed a bright red and trembled when he’d touched her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So where the fuck was she?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wadded up the paper, shoved it into his jeans pocket and was about to turn when he heard her voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My, but this is a fantastic turnout.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A burst of warmth speared through him and curved his lips into a smile before Sandor managed to tamp down the strange feeling. Seven fucking Hells bells. He didn’t want to feel warm when it came to Sansa Stark. Just hot. Hard. Hungry. End of discussion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d worn his heart on his sleeve once before where Sansa was concerned, and she’d stomped all over it. That was one mistake he was never making again. He might still have feelings for her after all this time—the first love sort of feelings, not the forever kind—but he had no intention of giving in to any of them save one. Lust. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pure, uncomplicated, tangle-the-sheets-into-a-fucking-knot lust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He summoned his best frown. “It’s about time you showed up,” he said as he turned and deposited a box of cups into her arms. “We’ve got work to do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d meant to be polite. That was it. A simple thank you that he’d given her the ticket and then her duty would be done. She couldn’t exactly be rude, even if it was Sandor Clegane. Not in front of the entire town. But she never thought she’d get suckered into standing behind a counter, serving up funnelcakes to a line of hungry townsfolk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that she minded the work. The work she could handle. It was the working conditions that had her itching to jump the counter and run for cover.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor Clegane was too appealing, too warm, too…close. Worse, he smelled even better than the warm, sweet funnel cake she was busy retrieving from the commercial deep fryer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cooking. She still couldn’t believe it. Sure, she would be the first to lay money that Sandor Clegane had done more than his fair amount of cooking, but none in an actual kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sudden vision of herself sitting up on the counter, Sandor in front of her, rushed at her. Heat flared in her cheeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do they bother you so much?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His deep voice startled her, drawing her attention away from the strong grip of his hands. Her heart paused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My scars. The way you’re staring at me, it’s like you’ve never seen them before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugged and forced the sensual image to the farthest corner of her mind. “I wasn’t looking at your scars, and you should know by now that they’ve never bothered me. I was just thinking. You just don’t strike me as the funnel cake type.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you kidding? I can eat at least a dozen. Just ask Edith, over there. Hey, Edith,” he called out. “Need some help?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa turned to see the old woman who hobbled toward a nearby table, a plate of barbecue in her hands. She shook her head, but Sandor wasn’t put off. He rounded the counter and reached her in a few swift strides. Taking the plate, he guided her into a chair, reminding Sansa of a young boy with tattered clothes who’d rushed to help pick up a sack of groceries her mother had dropped on her way out of the supermarket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her mother had tried to give him a dragon, and while he’d wanted to take it—Sansa had seen the desperation in his eyes—he’d simply shaken his head and settled for a heartfelt thank you from both Sansa and her mother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re welcome.” That’s all he’d said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d grown up a Stark. As far removed from someone like Sandor as a person could get. She hadn’t had to worry about food to eat or clothes to wear. She’d had everything. Thanks to her parents.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last thing she felt for Sandor was pity. Now admiration…She couldn’t help the smile that creased her lips as she watched him retrieve a glass of iced tea from the beverage table and take it to Edith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t that the lady who lives next door to the church?” she asked when he walked back to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope. That’s the lady who lives with me. She’s my housekeeper.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Housekeeper?” Her gaze shifted back to Edith who sat next to her walking cane, her hand trembling as she retrieved a bite of potato salad. “She actually keeps house for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She tries and that’s good enough for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The admiration she felt for him blossomed even more, along with something else. Something softer. A connection.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook away the notion and focused on the funnel cakes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So how long have you been cooking these?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Since about six.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her gaze shifted to him. “You’ve been cooking funnel cakes since you were six years old?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His grin was slow and heart-stopping. “Since about six o’clock, little bird. Alysanne Stone always runs this booth, but she has a stomach bug. Doc sent her home, so I stepped in to help out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean you’ve never done this before tonight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I used to hang out and watch her when I was a kid.” He pressed the button and batter poured into the sizzling grease. “And I’d eat all the leftovers. I also fixed this thing a couple of times whenever it got too temperamental. Alysanne isn’t very mechanical.” His gaze snagged on something just beyond her shoulder. “Neither is Jenny Mormont. She might make the meanest apple pie to ever arrive at a Sunday picnic, but when it comes to snow cones, she’s fucking clueless.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both glanced toward the woman across the aisle from them who stood beneath a sign advertising ten stag snow blizzards. She stared quizzically at an ice machine before smacking her fist against the side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trouble, Jenny?” Sandor called out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Darn thing gave out on me. One second it was grinding out ice and the next, nothing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold on and I’ll take a look for you.” He flipped off the switch on the funnel machine and wiped his hands. “I’ll be right back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandor Clegane to the rescue again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa had just turned to dust sugar off the countertop when she heard a voice behind her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two funnel cakes with extra cinna—Oh my Gods! Sansa. Sansa Stark! Is that really you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa turned and came face-to-face with Cosmopolitan Barbie. Long, gleaming light brown hair had been pulled back from a heart-shaped face. A generous helping of eye shadow and mascara accented wide, chocolate-brown eyes. A creamy silk blouse, no doubt designer, covered slender shoulders and an ample bosom. Flowing silk slacks draped from perfectly shaped hips and thighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perfect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That summed up Margaery Tyrell in one word. From her walk to her talk to her clothing. She was the product of good breeding and old money who knew how to use it to her best advantage, and Sansa had idolized her back in high school.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is you,” the woman declared. “It’s me,” the woman tapped her chest. “Margaery Tyrell. Well, make that Margaery Tyrell-Baratheon now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You and Joffrey finally tied the knot?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What can I say? I’m hyphenated and loving every minute of it. My, my—” she touched a perfectly manicured hand to her chest as if she couldn’t quite believe her eyes “—you look exactly the way you did back in high school. Your hair is even the same.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sansa touched her messy bun. “Old habits die hard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Margaery peered closer. “You know, you still have the most adorable blue eyes. You really should liven them up. Maybe add some eyeliner. And those lips. I think a makeover is definitely in order. You poor thing...you look so tired and worn out. I’d be happy—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll pass. It’s taken the last twelve years for my eyebrows to grow back after the last one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last one referred to the most memorable sleepover Sansa had attended. It had been Senior Girls’ Night after a huge rival football game and a select few lucky enough to call themselves Margaery’s friends had gathered at her house for an all-night gab session and pizza fest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One minute Sansa had been munching a slice of pizza and the next, she’d been Margaery’s makeover model. With so many eager eyes on her, she’d agreed. She’d wanted to agree. To fit in. To feel like all the other girls lucky enough to be invited to one of these parties. To be like all the other girls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Margaery smiled at the memory. “It wasn’t that bad. Besides, your hair looked great. Very chic.” She turned and waved to a tall, blond man. “Joff, come over here. Wait until you see who’s serving funnel cakes!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thirty seconds later, Sansa was looking into the sneering face and and mocking green eyes of Joffrey Baratheon, the jerk she’d gone to the 8th grade dance with instead of Sandor. Joffrey, once a spoiled kid, was now apparently carrying on the family tradition as a wealthy useless wastrel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Remember Sansa? Why, she was the smartest girl in our entire class,” Margaery told her husband. “Smart and conscientious and dependable, isn’t that right, Sansa? We were always goofing off, but Sansa stayed on track. She didn’t waste her time on boys. She was always focused, always rushing home after school to finish her work and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She was probably rushing home to get to the bathroom in time,” Joffrey cackled, while Margaery attempted to hide her spiteful smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two funnel cakes coming up!” Sansa said a little too brightly as she turned toward the funnel machine and concentrated her efforts on working rather than dealing with the Tyrell Hyphen Baratheons. She’d watched Sandor all evening. Turn the nozzle. Press the button. Swirl the dough. She could do this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s what she told herself, but ten heaving breaths later, after dumping several large blobs of dough into the fryer, she realized she was way out of her league. She would just wait for—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought stalled as she tried to shut off the flow of dough. The knob wouldn’t budge. If anything, the dough flowed faster, faster…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sansa? Is everything okay?” Margaery asked, as Joffrey snickered beside her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything’s fine,” she called out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think it’s broken?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” she ground out as she struggled with the knob and her rising panic. “I think it’s alive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The deep chuckle stirred the hair on the back of her neck and sent tingles to her nipples. She realized in an instant that Sandor was right behind her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re too nervous,” his deep voice whispered into her ears. “You have to relax.” He stepped even closer, until she felt the warmth of his chest at her back. His arms came around her. One hand settled over hers while the other slid around her waist. And, as easily as that, Sansa found herself wrapped in Sandor Clegane’s arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fingertips that held Sansa’s frantic grip on the fryer knob slid down until Sandor’s thumb massaged the inside of her wrist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Relax,” he murmured again, the word little more than a breathless whisper against the shell of her ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I’m making a mess,” she protested as the dough continued to funnel into the hot grease at a steady rate. Even so, she didn’t feel the same stir of anxiety she’d felt a moment ago. Now she felt the heat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The heat from his body and the heat between them. The incredible, breath stealing, scramble-your-senses heat that she’d yet to feel with anyone except the man standing behind her, surrounding her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s it,” he murmured as her fingers loosened on the knob. His thumb slid from the inside of her wrist, up her palm, leaving a blazing trail that made her tingle from her head to her toes, and every point in between.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His fingers closed over hers and with an easy flick of his wrist, the knob turned and the dough stopped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The word hard echoed through her head and she became instantly aware of her bottom nestled against his groin, his erection bulging beneath the material separating them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Poor choice of words,” she murmured before she could stop herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His chuckle, raw and husky, did terrible things to her peace of mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her mouth tingled and she had the insane urge to turn into the warm lips nuzzling her ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nuzzling? Yes, he was definitely nuzzling. Making her tingle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is everything okay now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Margaery’s voice pulled Sansa back to reality, to her scandalous position and the fact that Sandor Clegane was nuzzling her in full view of the Tyrell Hyphen Baratheons, the Gods and the good folks of Rosby who might be watching.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s stuck,” Sandor called growled his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But we turned it off,” she reminded him, her voice breathless and soft and excited…Oh Gods, she was excited.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We turned the knob off, but we’re still turning you on, little bird.” The hand around her waist crept an inch higher, his thumb rubbing a lazy circle against her naval. “Aren’t we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heat spiraled through her, making her lips part and her breath rush out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he touched the underside of her breast, she started. “Careful,” he warned, “or someone will figure it out. Then again, maybe that’s what you want. Maybe you want everyone to see what I’m doing to you. Is that it, Sansa? Does it turn you on to think that somebody might see the effect I have on you? That everyone would know you aren’t the prim and proper Stark girl you’re trying so hard to be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should stop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want me to stop?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yes. No. Maybe. The answers rolled through her brain, mixing with the multitude of other things and making her even more confused. If only she could think. Focus. She couldn’t, not with his thumb massaging her in such an intimate spot, his fingers burning into her rib cage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I…you need to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There are a lot of things I need, Sansa. A lot of things I want. I can tell you right now that stopping doesn’t qualify as either.” He trailed his tongue along the shell of her ear. “You aren’t, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” The word came out little more than a breathless whisper. Breathless? Oh, no, she was breathless, and she was definitely in trouble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So prim and proper. I knew it way back when and I know it now. You put up a good front, mind you, but it’s not who you </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> are. You were made for kissing and touching and warming a man all night long. You were made for me. Me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His words echoed through her head, along with the sounds around them. The play of the band. The whir of the nearby snow cone machine. The crunch and slide of a hundred feet. The murmur of voices and the rise of laughter. It should have been enough to shatter the seductive web and pull her back to reality. But this was reality. Not a fantasy, but real.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The noises made her heart pound faster, along with the seductive words he whispered in her ear and the bold way he massaged the underside of her breast. It was luscious and decadent and downright shameful and for the space of a few heartbeats, she’d never felt quite so alive in her entire life. “Tell me you like this, babe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I…” She wanted to. The urge was so strong to tell him all the wicked things running through her mind. What she felt. What she liked. What she wanted. Right here, right now. Despite the crowd of people surrounding them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her secret fantasy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As exciting as the realization was, it sent a wash of fear through her. She’d been hiding for so long, suppressing her true nature, that she didn’t know how to stop. She didn’t know if she could stop, no matter how much she suddenly wanted to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I…I—I think they’re done,” was all she finally managed to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She swallowed. “The funnel cakes. They, um, look crispy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She heard the draw of his breath, felt the tightening of his body, as if it took every ounce of strength he had to gather his composure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re not done yet, you and I,” he said before releasing her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His words stayed with her for the next half hour as she kept her distance and tried to forget the man standing so close. An arm’s length away if she’d been of a mind to reach out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wouldn’t. She stayed on her side of the booth and left Sandor to his until the cook-off finally wound down and she managed to slip away while he talked with Sam Tarly about judging tomorrow night’s Miss Rosby pageant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could leave the man behind, but she wasn’t nearly as successful escaping her fantasy man. He showed up much later when she crawled into bed. Oddly enough, she didn’t welcome the erotic thoughts. Instead of satisfying her the way they usually did, they left her wanting more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They left her wanting the real thing. Sandor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>━━━━༺❀༻━━━━</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t tell you how much we appreciate this!” Sam Tarly’s excited voice drifted over the phone early the next morning when Sansa answered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blinked against the onslaught of sunlight from her bedroom window and tried to focus on the alarm clock. What time was it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We need you at the grounds by six o’clock. That will give you time to check in at the judges table, get your name tag and find your seat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Name tag?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a real lifesaver. I didn’t know what we were going to do. Every available person either has a relative in the pageant or already has their hands full with other duties. When Sandor said he knew you wouldn’t mind filling in as the fourth judge, I can’t tell you how relieved I was.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I didn’t—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should have known you’d be obliging. I mean, your parents have been sponsors of the pageant for the past twenty years. Why, just last year they donated an extra sum to add to the scholarship fund. So, I’m not surprised you’re helping out. You’re a chip off the old block.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A chip off the old block.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The comment pushed past her sleepy haze and drew her fully awake. She’d struggled her entire life to fit in, to make her parents proud, to be the best daughter she could be. The fact that the townsfolk saw her as such sent a burst of pride through her and she found herself blurting, “What time did you say for me to be there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After all, it was just one night. The worst that could happen was that they would seat her next to Sandor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even so, she could handle the situation. She’d spent a lifetime ignoring her feelings for him. One more night was nothing, especially if it meant living up to the Stark name.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The tension is about to hit its peak...is it too much? 😁</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was going to be the longest night of Sansa’s entire life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She knew it the moment she slid into her seat and found herself sitting next to Sandor. He looked so good wearing jeans, a starched shirt and an easy grin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If I were the sensitive sort, I’d be offended that you didn’t say goodbye to me last night,” he murmured as the lights flickered and the pageant kicked off with the mayor’s wife twirling two flaming batons to a medley of oldies tunes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then it’s fortunate that you’ve never been the sensitive sort.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe I’ve changed. And if I was really sensitive, I’d likely be offended that you’re practically clinging to the other side of your chair. I don’t bite, little bird.” His grin widened. “Unless you ask me politely.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She searched for a smart-ass comeback. Something to stir his anger and turn him from this serious, perceptive, sexy-as-hells man to the annoying, irritating boy who’d pulled her ponytail and hung Kick Me signs on the back of her blouse every morning at school. It had been so easy to keep her distance back then.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She cleared her throat. “I think we’d better pay attention.” The mayor’s wife ended her performance with a spinning leap and a round of applause. Sandor cringed as she strutted past the judges table, twirling the flaming batons far too close for his comfort.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the pageant started and the contestants were introduced, Sansa actually started to relax. It wasn’t as if she had to talk to Sandor any more, what with all the noise and the music and the responsibilities that came with judging Miss Rosby. She could just forget all about him and keep her eyes and her mind on the matter at hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shifted in his seat and his blue-jean clad thigh brushed hers. Her heart started to pound. Her hands trembled. Heat rushed to her face. Worse, the subtle gesture made her go all soft and warm inside with anticipation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Beneath the table, he rested his hand on her knee, so very slowly moving up her leg to mid-thigh...his fingertips teasing, tracing patterns lightly on her inner thigh. His scent nearly overwhelmed her with desire. When her traitorous gaze flitted his way, he gave her such a heated, challenging look that she thought she might burst into flames. She struggled to breathe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, finally, the festivities drew to a close and Sansa was able to make her escape. She jumped at the chance to leave the table to deliver the judge’s decision to the emcee. The moment the envelope hit her palm, she bolted to her feet and nearly toppled the table. A strong hand on her arm steadied her, and left her breathless and shaken and wanting more. More of Sandor’s strong warmth against her body, his hands sliding over her arms, her breasts, her…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead of finishing the thought, she retreated behind the stage. The next fifteen minutes passed in a blur as the winners were announced and a mob of well-wishers crowded backstage. Sansa said her congratulations to the winners, then beat a hasty retreat out the back door. She paced restlessly, relishing the rising wind of the approaching storm as it lifted her hair and cooled her heated flesh...doing her best to forget Sandor and the effect his nearness had had on her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>━━━━༺❀༻━━━━</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A half hour later, she slid off her shoes, sat down on the edge of the stage and stared out at the now-empty auditorium. The sound of fading voices drifted from the open doorway as the last of the pageant attendees headed to their cars, hoping to get home before the deluge of rain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa drew in a deep breath and frowned at the way her body still tingled from the two hours, fifteen minutes and 48 seconds sitting next to Sandor Clegane. She shouldn’t be so affected. He was just a man.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The one man who filled her past.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And her present, she realized when she glanced up to find him standing in the doorway, holding a piece of chocolate cake and a cup of punch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I had to fight my way past Aegon Yarwyck and his eight kids for this,” he said in a quiet rumble as he handed the punch and cake to her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the scent of chocolate filled her nostrils, her frustration peaked and she turned accusing eyes on him. “Why are you doing this to me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Doing what, little bird?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know what. You’re being nice. Nice, when you don’t even like me. You never liked me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe this isn’t about like. Maybe it’s about finishing what we started. Aren’t you tired of pretending?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Heavy rain began to lash the windows. “You feel the pull. I know you do.” The front doors slammed shut with the force of the wind, startling them both, before he continued. “In your breasts.” The lights flickered briefly. “Between your legs.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t.” She sat the cake plate and the punch aside and got to her feet. “Don’t do this to me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not going to do anything right now, Sansa.” The roar of thunder sounded and then they were plunged into darkness. For several frantic heartbeats, she couldn’t see anything. She could only feel. Her heart pounding. Her blood rushing. Her nipples tingling. “You are.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She squinted and tried to adjust her eyes, but the blackness was too consuming. She could only hear his deep, even breaths and the raw, seductive rumble of his voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me what you feel, Sansa,” he murmured.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa wasn’t sure what happened to her in those next few moments. Maybe it was the darkness that lent a surreal quality to the situation and made it seem more fantasy than reality. Maybe it was the fact that she’d longed for this moment so many times, for the chance to finish what they’d started that night so long ago. Maybe all the sugar she’d consumed in the past week trying to satisfy her craving for Sandor had finally started to rot her brain. Maybe all three.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She didn’t know. She only knew that something broke inside her and suddenly she felt free. Uninhibited. Hot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me,” he appealed again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And she did.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“M-my hands are shaking. My lips are tingling. My pulse is pounding.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What else, Sansa? What else do you feel?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My nipples…” She licked her lips and searched for a word to describe the electricity skimming through her body. “Hard,” she finally murmured. “They’re hard and tight and every time I breathe they rub against the lace of my bra and they get harder. They—” she licked her lips again “—they tingle.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What else?” he pressed, as if he already knew what she felt. As if he felt it, too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m hot, so hot” she whispered. Her chest heaved as she tried for a deep, steadying breath. Her nipples rasped against her bra and electricity spiraled down, winding through her body in search of a more crucial area. “Between my legs,” she managed to say as the sensation grew stronger. “I’m hot and…and wet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She heard his sharp intake of breath and her heart pounded. She expected to feel him at any moment, his strong hands on her, stroking up her arms, stirring her the way they had at the carnival.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now show me how you feel.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another crack of lightning lit the room. For a fraction of a second, she saw the slight movement of his silhouette in the bright light. The realization that he was there, waiting and watching, sent another zing of excitement through her already flushed body.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She licked her lips before touching a fingertip to her bottom lip. Flesh quivered against flesh as she traced her mouth before sliding the fingertip down her chin, her throat. Her touch paused at the frantic pounding of her pulse before moving on, down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She slid a finger beneath the edge of her blouse, tracing the path where soft flesh met lace before moving to the first button. It slid free, then the next and the next, until finally her blouse parted. Cool air whispered over the exposed skin of her stomach. With a shrug, the silk slid over her shoulders, down her arms and puddled at her feet. Goose bumps followed, chasing up and down her bare flesh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her nipples pressed against the lace of her bra, eager to be free. She didn’t oblige them. Not yet. Her fingertip circled a ripe, swollen crest that peeked through the lace and the air lodged in her lungs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Show me more, Sansa.” Flashes of lightning continued to light the room often enough for him to watch her come undone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With trembling fingers, she unhooked the front clasp of her bra. The cups parted and her breasts sprang free. She touched the undersides first, cupping the soft mounds, weighing them before anticipation got the best of her and she had to feel more. She skimmed her palms over her nipples and a shiver went through her. Heat skittered over her skin, chasing away the goose bumps and setting her ablaze.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“More.” The one word, so raw and husky, urged her fingertips down. She slid her hand around her stomach, to the side zipper of her skirt. as she pulled the zipper down, the material sagged and the skirt slithered down her hips and pooled at her feet. She wore silk panties, very tasteful and conservative, and for a split second, doubt crept into her passion-laden frame of mind. They were a far cry from the red lingerie she’d purchased at the Lyseni Pleasures party, or the purple thong Sandor had teased her with.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then she heard his deep, guttural, “Beautiful,” and her hand seemed to move of its own accord. She trailed her fingertips over the satin of her panties. Her eyes closed as sensation rippled through her. In her mind’s eye, it wasn’t her own touch she felt, but Sandor’s.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hands stroking her through the fabric, his touch teasing the edge of elastic, his fingertips pushing inside to glide along the damp, swollen flesh between her legs, his finger sliding into the drenched flesh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her breath caught and she gasped at the incredible pressure that gripped her. Sweet. Intense. Real.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No matter how vivid the fantasy or how she’d touched herself in this exact same way many times before, it had never felt the way it did now as she stood bathed in the occasional flashes of lightning with Sandor Clegane in front of her. Watching.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another move of her fingers and her body swayed from the pleasure that rushed through her. She fought to keep her balance and her foot bumped something. Cold liquid seeped between her toes and her eyes fluttered open. She glanced down to see the cup lying on its side. Red punch stained the toe of her cream-colored shoe and a memory rushed at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She found herself remembering the punch creeping over the bodice of the pretty white dress she’d worn to the 8th grade dance, the empty cup dangling from Sandor’s hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We can’t do this.” Trembling hands grappled for the forgotten skirt. “I can’t do this.” She yanked the material up and tugged at the zipper before reaching for her bra and blouse. “I won’t.” She’d just slid into her shirt when the lights flickered back on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the time she blinked and adjusted her eyes to the sudden change in brightness, he was gone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thank the Gods.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She told herself that, but she didn’t believe it. She couldn’t. She’d felt too alive a few moments ago and now she felt…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Embarrassed. Ashamed. Mortified?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No, that’s what she </span>
  <em>
    <span>should</span>
  </em>
  <span> have felt, but the only emotion that closed around her and slithered inside was a fast-consuming loneliness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We’re not done yet, you and I.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His words echoed through her head, relentless as she gathered up her things and rushed outside to her car through the pouring rain. As she slid behind the wheel, her heart still pounding and her body craving his touch, she couldn’t help but remember that long-ago night.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had been a wonderful party. Her family and friends had gathered to wish her well. She’d been headed off to Northern University, her father’s alma mater, and as exciting as the future had been, she’d been terrified, as well. She’d spent her childhood striving to fit in, to be the proper daughter and make her parents proud. And she’d succeeded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d been so overwhelmed by the future and what waited for her. Her entire identity up to that point had been Miss Stark, daughter of Ned and Catelyn. But who was Sansa, deep down? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The question had kept her tossing and turning into the night, until she’d finally given up trying to sleep. She’d crawled out of bed, slipped on her clothes and went for a walk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And cried.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That’s when she’d seen Sandor. He’d cruised by in his old Mustang and pulled alongside her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Had she not been so upset, she could have turned up her nose and told him to take a hike. Instead, she’d crawled into his car.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’d driven down to the river. He’d made her smile and forget all about her fear. And then he’d kissed her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One thing had led to another and soon they’d been making out fast and furious, the lake glimmering in the far distance. When he’d tugged her panties down, she’d been so close to surrendering.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But her fear had stopped her, just as it had tonight, and she’d gone on to spend the next ten years thinking about him. Fantasizing. Wanting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She didn’t intend to put herself through another ten years of agony. The heat burned so fiercely between them because the fuse had been lit that night so long ago, and there was only one way to find relief. She had to let the fire run its course and burn itself out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sooner the better.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>━━━━༺❀༻━━━━</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was the biggest fucking idiot that ever lived.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor came to that conclusion as he pulled into his driveway a half hour after walking out on Sansa Stark.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d wanted him. He’d seen the desire shining bright in her eyes. He’d heard the raw huskiness of her voice. He’d even smelled the heat coming off her. But more than anything, he’d felt her want, her need when she’d looked at him for that split second when the lightning flashed and their eyes had met.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d wanted him, all right. But she didn’t want to want him. While she’d let her defenses down for a few moments tonight, she was still fighting the attraction between them and battling the lust that burned in her soul.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It didn’t matter. He could have taken her anyway. As turned on as she’d been, all he’d had to do was reach out. She would have melted in his arms at the first touch, powerless to resist the pull between them. It was too strong. Too overwhelming. Too damned intense.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The trouble was, he wanted her to want him. He wanted her to admit it. To him, and to herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And so he’d walked away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He climbed from the truck cab into the rain. A twinge of pain pulsed from his still rock-hard erection and he damned himself a thousand times. What did it matter if she admitted it so long as they finished what they’d started? One wild night and he could work her out of his system once and for all. That’s the way it had been with every other woman in his past.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The way it would have been with this woman if he’d done everything he’d been aching to do to her. If he’d kissed her lips. If he’d sucked those nipples into his mouth, first one then the other. If he’d slid her delicate fingers into his mouth and tasted her essence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He punched in the security code and let himself into the dark, empty house. Fucking Hells, he was a jackass. She’d been right there. Ready and waiting and wet, for the seven’s sake! She’d wanted him, physically anyway. That should have been enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not this time. He needed more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While he admitted that much to himself, he wasn’t yet prepared to think about why it mattered so much.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead he did his damnedest to force the image of her, naked and trembling, from his head as he stretched out on the sofa and loosened the button on his jeans.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His fingers grazed his throbbing length and desire pulsed through him. He closed his eyes and tried to think of the Varys House and the current tile color. Hopeless.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tried to concentrate on the TV. Instead he heard Sansa. Her sexy voice. Her short, frantic breaths. Her shameless, shuddering moan.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d wanted to touch her so badly, to pull her hand away from between her legs and replace it with his own, to feel the wetness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d wanted her to touch him, to slide open his fly and free his throbbing length, to stroke him from root to tip and back down again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He mimicked the motion and as he pictured her in his mind’s eye, he was no longer alone. Lonely. She was there with him, over him, her hands reaching for him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She touched him, slow and easy at first before she grew more insistent, working him into a frenzy. His heart pounded. His ears rang.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His entire body ached for a release that wouldn’t come. Not now. Not like this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not without her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He opened his eyes to the dimly lit living room and realized after a few frantic breaths that the ringing wasn’t just the blood pulsing to his brain. The doorbell sounded again, followed by a soft knock.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He drew in a shaky breath and climbed to his feet. No doubt Edith had decided not to risk the alarm. A swift tug and he managed to fasten his jeans enough for modesty’s sake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For the last time, I didn’t change the code—” His words stumbled to a halt as he pulled open the front door and found himself staring at a sopping wet Sansa Stark.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her face was flushed, her wet clothes plastered to her skin. Her dripping hair spilled down around her shoulders, tendrils clinging to her face and neck, raindrops sparkling in her lashes and dripping off her chin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you doing here?” he asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Isn’t that obvious?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His heart jumped at her words because he knew by the look on her face exactly what she wanted. He knew, but he wanted more. “Say it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We should…” She swallowed. “That is, I think…” She swallowed again. “I want this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Say it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked ready to turn and run before she seemed to gather her courage. She straightened her shoulders, looked him square in the eyes and said the words Sandor Clegane had been praying to hear for most of his life. “Let me in, Sandor. I want you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I’m sorry this chapter has taken so long to post. I’ve edited, re-edited, scrapped it all and rewritten. I’m mostly happy with it. Please forgive the ever-shifting POVs in this chapter.</p>
<p>I’m so sorry Prairie_Garden_Girl, HisYetisGirl and KitsFics, I was unable to find the right place for red lace hammer pants. Maybe next time. 😂😉</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I want you,” Sansa said again. “I’ve always wanted you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor reached out, hesitated a moment, then used his thumb to gently wipe away the raindrop rolling down Sansa’s cheek. She didn’t move, she didn’t even blink, watching him to see how he’d react to her words. Her skin felt like satin, so tempting he lifted his hand away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It trembled. His hand fucking trembled. It felt like a lifetime of dammed-up desire was raging through his system, burning up his veins.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’ve always wanted you. The words echoed in his ears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Do not fuck this up, he repeated to himself. His new mantra.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He held his hand out for her to take. He was done chasing. This time, she had to come to him. And she was, too. She took a deep breath, then she put her hand in his and stepped forward until her feet stood between his, and the tips of her breasts touched his chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slowly, carefully, he bent down to her and touched his lips to each eyelid, then moved over to tenderly kiss the soft skin of her temple, feeling the silky strands of her fiery hair tickling his ruined cheek. He dropped a hand to her waist and pulled her tightly against him, widening his stance to being her closer. Their bodies met and she felt the hard proof of his desire for a heart-stopping moment before he kissed her once again, a little more firmly, slower and deeper this time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor plunged both hands into her hair, to hold her still for his kiss. He traced her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue before sucking it into his mouth and nibbling. He licked his tongue inside her, dying for her taste, holding her head tightly as he angled his head for a deeper taste of her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had to cool himself down a little; otherwise, this wasn’t going to work. He had one shot at this—one. If he fucked up tonight, he may never get another chance. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>━━━━༺❀༻━━━━</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her hands came up to curl around his wrists as he continued kissing her, almost desperately. Her mouth parted and his tongue plunged inside, stroking and teasing and making her gasp for air. He didn’t so much as pause, instead deepening the kiss, drugging her with his taste. His smell. His touch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hands trailed down her back, cupping her bare buttocks through the thin fabric of her skirt. When he realized she wasn’t wearing any underclothes, he groaned. The sound, so raw and husky and male, vibrated into her mouth and made her heart pound even harder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His fingers caught the hem of her skirt, bunching the material until bare skin met bare skin and his hand slipped beneath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re so soft,” he murmured against her lips when he finally came up for air. “So soft and wet,” he added when his fingertips slipped between her legs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the distance, a car sounded. Lights skittered through the darkness, causing her to jolt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His mouth was so close to hers she could feel his breath as he whispered, “Are you nervous?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She cleared her throat. “A little,” she confessed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t be.” In a flash, he had her blouse unbuttoned, and his hand was cupping the soft roundness of her breast, his thumb rubbing the nipple gently. “Are you scared?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of you?” Sansa pulled back a little to look him in the eyes. “No. You won’t hurt me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His breath came out in a whoosh. “No, I won’t hurt you, little bird. I promise you that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes watched his, mouth uptilted in a faint smile. “I believe you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me what you want.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You,” she breathed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now? Right here? Where anyone could see us?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.” She was beyond caring. She ached for him and suddenly nothing else mattered. “Please.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>━━━━༺❀༻━━━━</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor gently guided her to lean slightly against the open doorframe, then he knelt on one knee before her. He placed one delicate foot on his thigh and kissed the silky skin on the inside of her knee. Then he slowly pushed her skirt back up and tucked the front of it into the waistband. Gods, this was a fantasy scene, destined to drive a man out of his mind with lust.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her legs were long and slender, with the most delicate ankles he’d ever seen. Fuck, even her feet were beautiful. Small, pale with an elegant arch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Running his hands along the long, elegant length of Sansa’s legs, he had a sudden urge to kiss her toes, one by one. Suck them. Run his mouth along the delicate arch of her foot. Lightly bite his way up to her narrow ankle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His breathing was ragged as he contemplated her pretty feet. No, he finally decided. No fucking way could he start at her toes. He’d come before he reached the knees.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He ran his hands up her legs, leaning forward, mouth level with her belly button. He nuzzled her belly while cupping her slender calves, running his fingers behind her knees, then around to the inner thighs and up until he could lightly stroke the soft curls of her sex.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tilt your hips toward me a bit, then lean back and hold to the doorframe,” he rasped against her belly. Unsteadily, Sansa obeyed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lemon-and-vanilla-scented musk rose from her, Sansa’s perfume mixed with arousal. He could clearly smell it, coming from the thatch of soft curls. Gently, Sandor pressed a finger into her and nearly wept with relief.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was so wet. His finger was coated with moisture as he penetrated her carefully. But not wet enough to take him, not yet. And she was gods-awful tight. Her little cunt closed around his finger like a wet, soft vise. He probed gently with his finger, again and again, until she rocked her hips against his hand. He explored her slippery cleft, and when his finger brushed against her clit, she gave a sudden exhalation of breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stroked her carefully, hoping the calluses on his skin weren’t hurting her. Everything about her little cunt seemed so delicate to him, the flesh incredibly soft. He opened her lips with his thumbs, then leaned in to flick his tongue over the clit, and her legs trembled.“Do you like that?” He murmured against her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gods, yes,” she whispered in the darkness. “Please, don’t stop.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>━━━━༺❀༻━━━━</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At her entreaty, he moved the leg that was propped on his thigh to hook over his shoulder, opening her legs wider, giving him deeper access. He plunged his face between her legs once more and stroked the flat of his tongue mercilessly over her clit. She wriggled against him, increasing the sensation. The pressure heightened until she couldn’t bear it. Her lips parted and a strangled gasp broke from her lips as the world exploded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She arched, clutching at his shoulders, digging her nails into the hard muscle as wave upon wave of luscious ecstasy washed over her. She would have melted into a puddle if Sandor hadn’t been there in front of her, steadying her with large hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyelids fluttered open and she found him staring up at her with an intense expression. Sansa simply stood there, staring into his eyes, doing her best to understand what had just happened.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An orgasm. But not just any orgasm. This had been different. More intense, more consuming than anything she’d known before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A zigzag of headlights cut through the dark night as another car turned onto the street. The sight jarred her from her train of thought. She became acutely aware of her compromising position—her back pressed to doorframe, her skirt up around her waist, her leg over his shoulder—and the fact that Sandor was still kneeling between her trembling legs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A wave of embarrassment swept over her, subsiding when Sandor rose slowly, wincing as he adjusted his erection in the stiff, tight denim, then picked her up into his arms, turned and carried her inside the house. The door slammed shut and his long legs made quick work of the dark hallway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A few heartbeats later, Sansa found herself in a large room dominated by a huge, four-poster bed. Oversize navy pillows and a matching goose-down comforter draped the mattress encased in blue-and-white pin-stripe sheets. Keys sat on the dresser along with a handful of change. A copy of Field and Stream magazine lay unopened on the nightstand. It smelled of leather and sawdust and him and her nostrils flared, drinking in the scent the way her eyes drank in the sight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is a big house.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I like my space.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That, or you’re planning on a big family someday.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugged. “Maybe someday.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Someday soon?” Did he have a significant other? Were they about to do something that would hurt someone else? As if he read the thoughts racing through her head, he shook his head. “There’s no one in my life right now.” A grin creased his face. “Just you.” He lowered her to her feet slowly, sliding her down the hard length of his body, letting her feel every ripple of muscle, including the hard bulge stretching his jeans tight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sank down to the edge of the bed and fingered her open blouse. “Take this off.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shook her head. “It’s my turn now.” She pulled him to his feet and touched the open edge of his jeans before seating herself on the bed. “I want to know what </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re</span>
  </em>
  <span> feeling. Tell me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t say anything for a long moment, but then his lips parted and he murmured the one word that fed her desire even more than the sight of him. “Hot.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Show me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But this is your fantasy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something about the statement bothered her, but then he reached for the partially undone zipper and her heart all but stopped beating.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The teeth parted with a slow, nerve-racking zzzzzzip. He watched her from beneath lowered lids as he shoved his jeans and briefs down and stood before her naked and beautiful and fully aroused.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While Sansa didn’t consider herself an expert when it came to naked men—she’d only slept with two—she knew without a doubt that Sandor was a perfect specimen. He was all man. Tall, powerful, masculine. Dark, course hair dusted his long, muscular legs. surrounded his flat brown nipples and matted his powerful chest. A fine line of hair trailed down his rippled abdomen. Wisps of dark silk surrounded a large, thick erection that jutted toward her as if begging for her touch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had to oblige. He’d sent her over the top and she wanted to do the same for him. She wanted to touch him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa dropped to her knees in front of him. She cupped and caressed, stroked and stirred, with her hands, her mouth, her tongue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop,” he groaned after several moments. He pulled her to her feet and crushed her against his chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I want inside you,” he murmured into her ear. “I need inside you. Now. Right now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His rhythm on the porch had been slow and controlled and Sansa gasped at the sudden frantic change.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She liked it. She liked seeing the desperation in his hot, glittering eyes, hearing it in the raw huskiness of his voice, feeling it in his touch as he urged her into the bed. Reaching into the bedside table, he pulled out a condom, which he rolled on in record time before covering her with the length of his body. He was eager and out of control, as if he’d dreamt of this moment just the way she’d been fantasizing about him all these years.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor was a passionate man...he’d had plenty of experience. He’d undoubtedly done this many times before with many different women. There was nothing special about this moment. She could have been any woman.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa told herself that, she just couldn’t make herself believe it. Not when he stared deep into her eyes and she saw the fierce longing that glittered in the gray depths.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was no waiting possible. Spreading her thighs wider to open her fully, his cock slid along the folds of her sex, then he entered her in one hard thrust, the heat and pressure of her unbearably exciting. Prickles erupted all over his body, an explosion of heat and light went off inside his head, an electric wire raced along his spine that made him shake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa lifted her hand and placed it on his shoulder. There didn’t seem to be any give in him at all. The shoulder muscle was dense, ridged, hard as steel. She stroked the heavy muscle uncertainly, and was surprised when he took her hand off his shoulder and pressed it to his mouth. He kissed her palm first, then the back of her hand, as if they were at a ball instead of lying together, his cock deep inside her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shifted slightly and—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck…don’t move, little bird. I’m so close to embarrassing myself,” he growled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was lying with his cheek on her hair, close enough that the hot puffs of breath against her temple ruffled her hair. His mouth was an inch from her ear, and the deep voice, so close it felt as if he were speaking inside her head, sent shivers down her spine. “And I haven’t begun to be finished with you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He levered himself up on his muscled forearms and looked down at her. His scars were blurry in the dim light, the whites of his eyes and his teeth light against his dark skin. His big hands clasped the sides of her head and he bent to kiss her, lightly, mouth moving gently on hers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lifted his mouth for a moment and tilted her head slightly so he could kiss her from another angle. Sweet kisses. Tender kisses. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was still rock-hard inside her, but he wasn’t moving. The only thing he was moving was his mouth on hers. His kisses were warm, deep, a soft sensual gliding of his mouth on hers. It was easy to lose herself in them, particularly now that she could breathe again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lifted his head once more, his gaze piercing in the dimness. “Are you okay?” he whispered, mouth an inch from hers. “Am I hurting you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa smiled at that, bringing her hand up to caress the scarred side of his face. “You seem to think I’m some kind of cream puff.” She shook her head, her hair rasping faintly against the pillowcase. “I can assure you that I’m not.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He blinked. In an instant his expression changed utterly. His face tightened, nostrils flaring. The heat in his eyes was visible even in the semidarkness. “Oh, but you are.” His voice was husky, pure sex. “You’re a beautiful little cream puff, and I could eat you up all night long.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shuddered all over, recalling the heat in his eyes when he’d looked up at her from between her legs. “You liked that,” he said, voice deep and low. Deep grooves bracketed his mouth. “Just thinking about it turns you on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No one’s ever...” Her voice was breathless. She was completely distracted by what was going on in her body. Each pulse of his cock brought a little tug of her inner muscles tightening around him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Amazing. That had never happened to her before—that intimate link so intense she could feel the changes in the man’s body inside hers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor Clegane might be scarred and grim-faced and not the world’s greatest conversationalist, but her body didn’t give a damn because he was perhaps the sexiest man alive. The most…masculine man she’d ever seen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everything about his body was a source of intense, bewildering pleasure. The sheer size of him, the hard muscles, the thick mat of dark, wiry chest hair brushing her nipples with each breath they took, the thick, rock-hard cock buried inside her…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gods, just the feel of him…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d love to go down on you again, little bird,” he said in that dark, smoky voice, “but I’d have to pull out first, and they’d have to hold a gun to my head to make me do that right now.” His big hands slid down her sides to hold her hips as he began moving inside her. Long, slow, deep glides that filled her with heat. “No fucking way,” he whispered. “That’s for later, when I can think of something besides this.” He lunged into her, a heavy thrust that took him even more deeply inside her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa’s arms had to stretch to hold him. Her hands slid over the sleek hard muscles of his arms without finding a grip. Frustrated, she hooked her hands under his arms, palms flat against his massive deltoids, and held on. She could feel the intense play of muscles as he moved on her, in her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His long, hard body was exciting, from the hair-roughened legs holding her own legs open to the big hands holding her head still for his kiss. The kiss deepened, turned biting and hard. She gasped for breath as her sex fluttered again. He felt it. He felt everything that was happening to her. He knew what was happening to her body almost before she did.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor levered himself up on his arms, lifting his upper body away from her completely. His chest was so wide it seemed to fill her entire field of vision, the pectoral muscles sharply delineated. Sansa stared hungrily at the massive biceps, hard and perfect. Her hands itched to touch him—touch all that hard, sculpted muscle. She reached out tentatively to stroke his chest, and his entire body shuddered. His eyes burned into hers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look at us, Sansa,” he commanded softly. “Watch what we are together.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Startled, Sansa looked down at their bodies. The hair rose along the nape of her neck and along her forearms. She’d never seen anything as erotic as their bodies joined together. Her hands were clutching his biceps, her skin very pale against his darker skin. She watched the hard muscles of his stomach clench with his long, slow thrusts. Their pubic hairs intermingled at the deepest point of his glide into her, when she felt every inch of him inside her, black hairs intermingling with her pale ones. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With each glide into her, Sansa’s arousal increased. She watched them making love, the room silent and hushed, his thrusts slow and regular. Her very veins felt incandescent.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa was beginning that long, luscious slide into climax when a drop of sweat fell from his temple onto her chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It electrified her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This slow, controlled lovemaking was exacting a price. His stomach muscles were so tight she could see each ridge of muscle. Sansa slid a hand from his biceps—held so tautly the sinews were visible—to his back and felt his control even there, in the hard, tightly clenched muscles. He looked as if he were a statue carved of dark marble rather than a man of flesh and bone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The knowledge of how tightly he was hanging on to his self-control pushed her right over the edge. With a sharp cry, Sansa erupted into contractions, clenching tightly around him, shaking with the force of her climax.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gods,” he muttered, as a shudder went through him. He lowered himself to her with a groan, dropping his hands to her thighs. He lifted them high and pushed them wide apart, so she was completely open to him and began thrusting hard and fast. His movements kept her on that knife’s edge of climax far longer than was normal for her as pulses of red-hot pleasure coursed through her system. Just as her climax was winding down, and she could breathe again, he turned his head on the pillow, moving his lips to her ear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“More,” he whispered. “I want more, Sansa.” Goose bumps rose along her flesh as he inserted his hand into the small of her back and lifted her even more into his thrusts. He changed the angle of his movements, and somehow the base of his cock was rubbing directly against her clit. Electric shocks ran through her system as waves of intense pleasure almost too great to be borne coursed through her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For the first time in her life, Sansa became a purely physical being, all her senses turned inward to the pleasurable tumult happening inside her body.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It seemed as if she came with her entire body, not just her sex. Her limbs shook as she held on to him, feeling with her thighs and arms the dense play of muscles as he moved inside her, as he came with a roar. Eyes closed, head tilted back, she rode out the waves of pleasure until there was no more left. There was nothing left in her, not even the strength to hold on to Sandor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor stopped. “Sansa?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Any woman, she told herself as he gathered her in his arms, their hearts hammering in perfect sync. Any woman.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She almost believed it, too. But then he touched his lips to her forehead in a gentle, warm kiss and whispered, “You’re everything I’ve ever dreamed, and more,” and she knew without a doubt that what had just happened between them had gone beyond unfinished business.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The truth should have sent a burst of dread through her. Instead it filled her with pure, unadulterated happiness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d not only slept with Sandor Clegane. She’d fallen in love with him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>━━━━༺❀༻━━━━</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor stared down at Sansa and watched the soft flare of her nostrils, the steady rise and fall of her beautiful breasts. Finally, after all these years, he knew. He’d spent so many sleepless nights wondering what it would have felt like to fuck her that night, to plunge inside her and fill her up. To possess her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he was the one possessed. He’d had her, yet he wanted more. He didn’t just want inside her body. He wanted inside her head. Inside her heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And she wanted one fucking night, or so he thought until she scrambled across the bed and threw her legs over the side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where are you going?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s late. I—I really have to go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s early, little bird, and the only thing that you have to do is crawl back over here—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The loud blare of an alarm system cut off the rest of his words. Sansa snatched up her clothes and started jerking them on while Sandor let out a heated curse and reached for his jeans.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s just me.” A woman’s voice carried down the hall, along with the steady tap of shoes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fucking Hells, hold on,” Sandor called out. “I’ll be right there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m really sorry.” The voice moved closer. “I swear, you need to stop changing that code on me. How in the world is an old woman supposed to keep track of such things if you’re always fiddling with—oh, my.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa clutched the edges of her blouse together just as Edith appeared in the doorway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The woman took one look at Sansa and her face flushed a bright scarlet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry…I didn’t…That is…I had no idea you were entertaining. I mean, Sandor never…I’ll just close this door behind me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t usually have women over,” he said as he turned back to her. “You’re the first. That’s why Edith is so freaked out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first. The thought rushed through her head and she forced it back out. She simply wanted to go before she gave in to the urge to crawl back under the covers and stay there forever. She needed to think.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I really have to go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just wait.” The loud ring of his cell phone punctuated his words. “We have to talk.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We will, I promise. I just...I need time to think.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The cell phone rang again and he cursed as he snatched it up. “Just wait,” he told her again. “Clegane,” he barked as he punched the talk button.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t.” She started for the door, but he caught her arm, his fingers tight but not painful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re going to talk.” He shook his head as he shifted his attention to the phone call. “Not us,” he said into the phone. “We’ve already talked and I can tell you that the citrus tile is this close to being installed. One more room and—” His words ground to a halt. His expression hardened and she knew who was on the phone even before he said the name. “Black cherry? But we’re nearly finished, Mr. Varys. My men are laying the last of it as we speak.” He listened, his expression growing blacker by the moment. “No, I’m not saying that I won’t do it. I’m just saying that it’s not practical.” Another heart-pounding moment of silence. “I’m not saying that you’re being impractical,” he ground out. “It’s just a little late and we’ve changed colors four times already.” Another moment of tense silence and he nodded. “Fine. I’ll stop the citrus and we’ll order the black cherry. Give me the catalog number?” He fished in his pocket and extracted a tattered square of paper. He unfolded the sheet, rummaged in the nightstand drawer for a pen and started to scribble. “Got it. No, no,” he growled, looking anything but pleased. “It’s no trouble. You’re the customer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He punched the off button and tossed the paper onto the bed with a heated curse. Then he turned his full attention on her. “We need to talk. I want to know…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His words faded as Sansa’s attention hooked on the paper. A familiar sheet of paper. She recognized the color, the monogram, the handwriting. Her own handwriting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her gaze shifted to his as she reached for the sheet of stationery. “Where did you get this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“At Brienne’s bar. I needed something to write on and it was lying in an ashtray.” He stared at her for a long moment. “You’re mad, aren’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But that was the kicker. She wasn’t mad. She was in love. Love.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tossed the paper to the bed. “I have to go.” Away from him, from his scent, his touch and the penetrating light of his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knew her deepest fantasies and if she stayed a moment more, he would know the truth. Love.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not going anywhere.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, I am.” She pulled her arm free of his grip and started for the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When are you going to stop worrying about what people think?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look who’s talking.” She turned on him. “You’re so worried about what everybody else thinks that you’ve eaten a huge chunk of cash all because Varys can’t make up his mind. You’re still eating it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His jaw hardened and he frowned. “That’s different. It’s business.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is it?” She focused her attention on him rather than the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her she was making an even bigger mistake by walking away from Sandor. She loved him. That’s all that should matter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know what I think?” She focused on her anger, eager to ignore the truth beating inside her with every beat of her heart. “I think you’ve spent the past ten years busting your ass to change everyone’s mind about you and you’re worried about slipping up. I think you’re afraid that if you tell Varys where to get off, he’ll tell people that you really haven’t changed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shook his head. “I’m not really concerned with everyone else. It’s you I’m interested in. You I’ve always been interested in, since the first moment you smiled at me with your mouth full of peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The memory fought its way into her head, but she was determined to keep it out, and even more determined to keep the conversation on him. “You’ve found your acceptance and you know it. And now you’re afraid of losing it by pissing off Mr. Varys. You’re bending over backward to please him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like you bend over backward to please your parents?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I get it, all right. It’s not your mother or your father you’re so eager to prove anything to. It’s yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, baby,” he continued, his voice softer when he caught sight of the tears swimming in her eyes. “We’ve both spent most of our lives being overshadowed by our parents. But all that matters is who we are right now,” he told her. “I’m the man who loves you. The man who’s always loved you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His confession sent a burst of joy through her unlike anything she’d ever felt before. She wanted to laugh, to cry, to throw herself into his arms and confess her own feelings.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Love.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The truth pushed and pulled inside her, stirring a wealth of emotion—everything from elation to dread to full-blown fear. Because Sansa Stark wasn’t supposed to love Sandor Clegane. And he wasn’t supposed to love her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just need time to think, Sandor,” she said shakily, perilously close to tears. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor took her face in both hands, looked into her eyes and rasped, “Take all the time you need, little bird. I’ll be here when you’re ready.” Then, he watched her walk away yet again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“This isn’t the black cherry tile I wanted.” Mr.Varys, back early from his trip, stood in the foyer early Sunday morning and stared down at the tiled floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, it’s the citrus.” Sansa had been right last night. He was afraid of what people thought about him, just as she was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How the fuck could he expect her to ignore what everyone else thought when he, himself, was so wrapped up in everyone else’s opinions that he’d sacrificed his own valuable time and money, not to mention his self-respect?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn’t. He had to practice what he preached, starting now. He pulled his hair back out of his face, putting his scars on display. Fuck it. Everyone would just have to get used to it. No more hiding.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But I ordered the black cherry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You ordered this first.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But I don’t want this. Didn’t I make myself clear?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As crystal. You want the black cherry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Exactly. You’ll just have to pull this up and redo it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d be happy to, but it’ll cost you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you talking about? Your contract promises full customer satisfaction.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My contract also states that any changes will add additional charges and time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re going to charge me?” Varys asked as he put a hand to his chest dramatically.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor nodded and suddenly the anxiety that had been knotting his gut eased. “The price of this tile, plus the new tile and the added labor charges.” He handed over the written estimate. “Just say the word, and the black cherry is yours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Varys took one look at the estimate, saw the additional cost that Sandor had already incurred three times over and swallowed. His expression eased as he glanced down at the citrus tile once again. “Actually, this looks really good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor grinned. “At Triple Dog Construction, we aim to please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>━━━━༺❀༻━━━━</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Friday afternoon, Sansa found herself in the checkout line behind Edith at the grocery store. Edith turned to her with a sweet smile, “Miss Stark, dear, how are you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa blushed, recalling their last meeting in Sandor’s bedroom. “I’m well, how are you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This arthritis makes it hard for a body to get around. Would it be too much trouble to help me load my groceries in the car?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No trouble at all, Edith, I’d be happy to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the car, Edith’s demeanor changed from sweet little old lady to angry harridan in the blink of an eye. “I don’t know what’s going on between you and Sandor, little missy, but that boy is like a son to me, and I won’t see him hurt.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I...I don’t want to hurt him,” Sansa sputtered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you are hurting him. He’s moped around ever since you left. Let me tell you something.That boy has been dragged through all seven Hells. But he came through it all. He’s built a good life for himself with his bare hands. Unlike the high and mighty Starks, he didn’t have anything handed to him. If you can’t see what kind of man he is, you’re just not good enough for him,” she finished her diatribe with her hands on her hips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa’s eyes filled with tears. “He is a good man, and I don’t deserve him, but I love him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Edith’s face softened as she reached for Sansa’s hand, patting it gently. “Then tell him, dear. He’s quite a catch, you know?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa laughed tearfully. “Yes, he is. But he’s been avoiding me, what can I do?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Seems to me he’s been doing all the chasing. Now it’s your turn. You know, me and the girls play bingo on Saturday evenings, then we meet up at Lillian’s for cocktails. My sweet boy won’t let me drive home on my own, so he picks me up around 11. That gives you a few hours to chase him down and try to catch him,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa wrapped her arms gently around Edith’s shoulders. “Thank you, Edith! I won’t let you down.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See that you don’t, missy...or I’ll take a switch to your backside!” Edith pulled away and lowered herself into the car with a groan. “Good luck, dear. Please tell him not to change that darn code again, will you?” Then she drove away, leaving Sansa smiling hopefully behind her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>━━━━༺❀༻━━━━</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her migraine was completely gone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa stood on the corner of Main Street and Stokeworth in the heart of downtown Rosby the following Saturday morning and stared at the endless stream of classic cars cruising by. There were all shapes and sizes, from an ancient Edsel to a vintage Corvette dragster. Her gaze touched each one, searching for the familiar black Mustang. And amazingly, her head didn’t hurt anymore—not when she focused her eyes or concentrated or even worried.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And she was worried.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A full week had gone by and Sandor hadn’t tried to contact her even once. She’d seen him at Brienne’s bar and last night’s Car Cruise carnival, but he hadn’t once approached her. Much less taunted or teased her. Or tried to seduce her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His retreat came as no surprise. The night they’d slept together, he’d put himself on the line and declared his feelings. Edith said he was hurting and it was all her fault.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She closed her eyes and fought against a swell of dread. What if she was too late this time? Sure, his love for her had endured all these years. It had even grown stronger, despite her first rejection. But they’d been kids back then. She’d been immature.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This time, however…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d still been immature, still living her life with the same mentality she’d had while growing up. Sandor had not only brought her most erotic fantasies to life, but he’d given her the freedom she’d only dreamed of having. Being with him had made her realize that being herself was okay. He gave her sense of belonging. He made her feel excited and happy and complete.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She belonged with him, and she wanted happiness now. She wanted Sandor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She only hoped that he still wanted her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crossing the street, she worked her way through the crowd. Dozens said hello and Sansa returned their greeting, but otherwise, she kept her eyes trained on the passing cars. Waiting…Hoping…There.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She spotted him a few cars from the corner. Her heart pounded as the vehicles rolled by. The moment Sandor reached the corner, she drew in a deep breath, said a silent prayer and stepped toward the car.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I get a ride?” Without waiting for an answer, she pulled open the door and slid in next to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, Sandor, your hair looks good back like that. I can see your eyes,” she said as she leaned toward him and caressed his scarred cheek softly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” Sandor asked, his voice cracked a bit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sitting.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, what are you doing in here? In my car? With me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I told you. I need a ride.” She twisted in the seat until she was facing him. “I need you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His foot still sat on the brake and a burst of horns erupted behind them, but Sandor didn’t budge. His full attention remained fixed on her as a dozen emotions chased across his face. Hope and fear and disbelief.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I need you. You were right about me. I was scared of standing up for myself, of letting my parents down. I wanted so much to make them proud, but I only ever did when I let them make my decisions for me. You’re the first person who’s ever made me feel a true sense of belonging and acceptance. You.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A clamor of horns filled the air, followed by several calls from the onlooking crowd.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is everything all right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You folks having car trouble?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Engine stalled?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The voices drew his gaze and he glanced around before his attention fixed on her again. “People are looking at us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know.” She worked at the top few buttons of her blouse while he watched her with a puzzled expression.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you doing?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Showing you my underwear.” She pulled the top edges of the blouse aside and let him glimpse the red Lyseni Pleasures lingerie she’d purchased. “It’s not purple, but I called Shae and asked if she could put in a rush order for a purple thong and a matching bra. In the meantime, this—” she slid another button free “—will have to do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But people are looking at us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s the point.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He caught her hands midway down. “You’re confusing the hell out of me, woman,” he growled, as he started sliding the buttons back into place. “What’s all this about?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You were right. I did buy this for myself. It feels good and I like it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh...I’m glad?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I like you. I…” She searched for her courage. “I don’t want you to be just my very own secret fantasy. I want you to be my reality. I want—” Her voice broke then. Please don’t let me be too late. Please.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hands stalled on her top button as he stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. A breathless moment passed and then he smiled, and all the love he’d professed for her shone in the gray depths. “Tell me, little bird. Tell me what you really want.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You,” she murmured. “I don’t just like you. I love you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For the first time in her life, Sansa Stark didn’t worry about who was looking over her shoulder or what they might think of what she was about to do. She cared only about the man in front of her. The man who fulfilled all of her fantasies and then some. The man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Starting right now. “Take me home and I’ll show you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>━━━━༺❀༻━━━━</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor held the wheel with a white-knuckled grasp. Every cell in his body wanted to get back to his house as fast as possible. He kept his eyes on the road ahead, because if he looked her way, he’d just keep on looking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not even he could drive safely with his head turned to stare at the most desirable woman he’d ever seen.They’d end up with the front fender wrapped around a tree, covered in shards of glass, if he stared the way he wanted to. Not how he wanted this evening to end up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was sweet torture driving with an erection so strong the muscles in his abdomen and the long muscles in his thighs were pulled tight. It seemed as if every muscle in his body was centered around his groin. All his blood,too. Every instinct he had was telling him to pull over, stop the car, pull Sansa’s skirt up, her panties down, and drag her into the backseat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could see in his mind’s eye exactly how it would be. Sansa, lying in the backseat, long slender legs wrapped around him and him on top of her, fucking away so hard the Mustang would rock with his thrusts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unfortunately, he was a big fucker. He would smother her back there. The thought kept him from pulling over, but it didn’t cool his blood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. “The instant we walk through the door, I’m going to be inside you one second later. And I want you ready.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A little indrawn breath. “Ready how?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His jaws clenched. “I think you know. But if not, let me spell it out for you. I want you all wet for me. I want that luscious little cunt all soft and warm and wet for me.” His voice was harsh, hoarse. The crude language came naturally, as a direct expression of his deepest desires. Something of his desire had communicated itself to her because he could hear her breathing speed up. “I want all that before we arrive. Because I’m sure as hells not going to have time for foreplay once we get there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“O-okay,” she breathed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor shifted in his seat, eyes resolutely ahead. Even far gone in the throes of red-hot lust, he was master of the car. So, yes, he was hard as a rock and it almost fucking hurt when he moved to shift gears, most of his mind was taken up with the beautiful woman in the seat next to him, but it didn’t make any difference. Even if he had only two neurons left in his head, they were enough to drive with. His muscles could manage alone, without guidance from his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Take your panties off.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The swish of her silky red hair on her shoulders as her head swivelled toward him was audible. “What?” she breathed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You heard me.” Fuck, even his throat muscles were tight. He could barely get the words out. His voice came out harsh and guttural. “I want those little red panties off. And while we’re at it, take off your bra under your blouse. You can keep the blouse on.” It was a tough concession, but having her pretty white breasts bared might just be too much for him. He had a lot of self-control, it was true. But shit, there was a limit to everything. “Panties off. Bra. Off.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was silent in the car for long moments. Sandor flexed his fingers on the wheel and kept his gaze resolutely on the road.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I—I’ll need to take my seat belt off.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His jaws clenched as he slowed the car down. “Do it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She unbuckled the seat belt, holding it over her body, hesitating.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, she moved and ah, yes. There were the lovely little sounds of a woman disrobing...so different from men. A woman taking her clothes off was a quiet symphony.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor remembered all too well what it was like hitting the showers after ballgames in school. He and his teammates would come in sweaty and smelling like goats. They’d strip down, swearing a blue streak, helmets, gear and shoes clunking heavily to the floor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How did women do it? How did they make such sweet, soft sounds? Everything so delicate and elegant.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor could follow what was going on by sound alone. The seat creaking slightly as she lifted to slide her silky panties down her thighs and put them down in the footwell</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Almost there. He felt a drop of sweat fall down his temple. It was hot in the car, but even if it had been freezing, he’d have sweated at the thought of Sansa almost naked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bra.” The word came out through what felt like a boulder in his throat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay.” He heard her swallow. She was trembling but she was also excited. He could smell it. Over the leather of the seats and Sansa’s perfume was the scent of her arousal. He’d recognize it anywhere. She was turned on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Damned right. She had to be because he was going to start fucking her hard just as soon as they were in a place where he physically could without driving them both into a tree.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa reached up between her breasts under her blouse and in a few graceful moves had removed her bra, the same red silk as her panties. It joined them in the footwell.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor would have given anything to make her take her blouse off. He loved her breasts, so pale and soft, with the pale pink nipples that turned cherry red when she was turned on. He’d take money on a bet that they were cherry red now. He didn’t know if he could keep his eyes on the road with her bare breasts inches from him, so against his will, he let her keep the blouse on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A second into the house it was coming off, though.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were crawling slowly. Now that she’d taken her underclothes off, they needed to make better time. “Pull your skirt up and put your seat belt back on.” As soon as he heard the little click, he pressed the accelerator. They had another quarter of an hour before they got to Sansa’s house. He had fifteen minutes to get her ready. Or rather, she had fifteen minutes to get herself ready.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His jaw clenched, back teeth biting together. In his peripheral vision he could see the long elegant line of her legs gleaming palely against the black leather seat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me what you’re feeling.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She let out a little breath. “All right.” She shifted slightly, arousal and her perfume billowing out with each slight movement. Sandor’s hands tightened again on the wheel, slippery with sweat. “What I’m feeling. Well, um, the seat is warm. I feel—I feel the heat on my bare skin. I’ve never felt that before in a car. I mean, against my—my private parts.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Open your legs,” he said harshly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another little huff of breath, and hesitation. Not reluctance, he could feel it. Just surprise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was a little surprised himself, at how hard he was pushing her. It was like he had a fever, an itch he couldn’t scratch, just under his skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Right now, he had to make sure that when he got Sansa home, she’d be able to take him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Touch me,” he ordered. “Put your hand on my cock. Feel what you do to me.” There was only his jeans and briefs between her hand and his hard-on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa reached out hesitatingly, then lay her hand on his crotch. His cock immediately lengthened as a surge of blood went through it at her touch. Her hand jerked in surprise. They were on a broad avenue and he spared a second to look down at himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her pale hand gleamed in the faint light coming from the digital readouts. After her initial surprise, she’d put her hand back on him, cupping her palm around him. He could feel the heat of her hand through the two layers of cloth. His cock and her hand started doing a little dance. She’d squeeze lightly, his cock would respond enthusiastically, which made her squeeze him again, while he surged against her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was torture. Why was he doing this to himself? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had to concentrate fiercely on the road and worked to keep his breathing even. She was driving him crazy, yet he’d kill himself if she stopped touching him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Touch yourself.” Her eyes turned big. “Touch yourself,” he repeated grimly. “With your other hand. Open your legs and touch yourself.” In his peripheral vision, he watched as her right hand hesitated over her thighs. Then, slowly, her thighs opened and she reached between them with her forefinger, running it along the cleft.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God, he remembered doing that himself, sliding his finger along the silky opening, tender and fascinating, puffy and pale pink. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you wet?” They were passing Varys’ house, a huge monstrosity surrounded by woods that just cried out “I have more money than taste”. It meant that they were just a few minutes from his house. “Please tell me that you’re wet, because otherwise I’ll die.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa gave a soft little laugh. “No, you’re okay. You’ll live a little longer. I’m wet, though…,” she paused delicately, “not quite as wet as you make me.” Her fingers tightened around his cock.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The muscles in his thighs pulled, hard, and a line of fire raced down his spine. For a shocked second, he thought he would come in her hand. He managed to pull back from the brink, shaking, jaws clenched.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa ran her hand up him once, then back down. “Wow.” He could see her looking at him. “Something almost happened there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor’s jaws clenched. “Yeah.” He chanced a glance at her. They were almost home. “You little witch.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He saw the beginning of her smile before concentrating again on the road. “That better have excited you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, it did,” she assured him softly. Her thighs opened wider and he could actually hear the wet sounds as she pushed her finger inside her, then pulled it slowly out. “I am very…ready.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor had one big punch to his system as he started the free fall to orgasm. No! Not here, not now. Again, he had to use all his self-control to pull himself back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were there. He drove up the driveway, killing the engine just as the front fender of the Mustang kissed the garage door. He turned to look at her, wincing. Every movement fucking hurt. “Pull down your skirt. Leave your underwear here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was fast, he had to give her that. By the time he made it to her door, she had herself put back together. Panties and bra were a silky gleam on the floor of the footwell.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa held out her hand to him, in utter trust, a mysterious half smile on her face. “I’m looking forward to this,” she whispered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not as much as I am.” Sandor smiled down at her. His hard-on still hurt, but for just a second, he was able to forget it. His cock was squeezed tight inside his jeans but something was squeezing him in the chest area, too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His senses were heightened. The pine trees of the forest surrounding the house gave off a heady, resinlike scent that mixed with the whiff of gas coming off the hot hood. Above all those, her scent, Sansa’s scent, rose like a grace note.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And his skin—fuck! His skin felt supercharged, one huge erogenous zone from the top of his head to his toes. The warmth of the sun. All the textures of his clothes, the softness of her hand in his, the light wind that felt like a gale—everything was heightened.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulled her up the walkway and the stairs as fast as he could without them tripping and breaking their necks. A second later they were racing down the hall together and a second after that, they were in his bedroom and he had both hands in her hair, cradling her head, kissing her wildly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hand went to his pants and he freed himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She lifted herself up on tiptoe so she could cradle his hard-on and it brought about a second’s relief. Not enough, but gods, it was better rubbing himself against her softness than against his jeans.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He left her mouth for the second it took to whip her blouse up and off, missing her fiercely, moaning as he took her mouth again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had another second to get her naked and to get himself suited up. He couldn’t do both in a second.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Take your skirt off,” he whispered against her mouth, stepping back. “Fast.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulled a rubber out of his pocket and donned it, wincing at the feel of his hand smoothing the condom over himself. He felt ready to explode.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She held his eyes as she quickly unzipped her skirt. It slid to her ankles and she stepped out of it. She toed her sandals off, flicked them across the room somewhere.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before they landed, Sandor had pressed against her, lifting her and dropping them both to the bed. She opened for him, an instinctive gesture of welcome and his cock brushed against her soft pubic hair. He gritted his teeth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was completely dressed except for his cock hanging out and she was utterly naked. He didn’t need arousing, it felt like steam was coming off him as it was, but the sight of her naked body against him shattered what little control he’d still had.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandor’s hands cupped her bottom, lifting her up, and he slammed into her, hard and fast. She took him. He shook, letting his forehead droop onto her shoulder. She could take him. Thank Gods. She’d done her own foreplay and this was going to work.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was breathing hard, lungs bellowing, trembling, trying to hold on to his control. She clasped him like a warm, wet fist. He needed to wait just a second before fucking, make sure she was used to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa’s head was tilted back against the mattress, long slender neck exposed. That neck was a bite magnet. He shifted his head, brought his lips to her throat, licked her, then bit her. A delicate but hard nip. Right over where her heartbeat pulsed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sansa jolted, gasping. At the same time, her cunt clenched around him, from root to tip, tight and hot. His entire body clenched back and he lost control.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Keeping his mouth to her throat he started pounding in her, the entire world reduced to his mouth on her throat and his cock in her, completely open to him. He was being too hard on her but he couldn’t stop himself, it felt like he’d been waiting for this forever, like a dam that had just burst.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had no idea if he could stop if she asked him to, his body had taken over entirely, trying very hard to pump as deeply into her body as it was possible to go. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was too much, too intense. His heart raced, sweat poured down his back, he picked up the pace for a wild second, cock swelling inside her and then he erupted, coming wildly, in huge waves, shuddering and moaning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Was she—yes!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a wild cry, Sansa started coming, the small contractions milking him tightly, drawing his climax out. Damn, he’d give anything not to have a rubber on. To spill into her warm, welcoming body instead of into latex, feel every inch of her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One last, hard thrust and it was over. He laid heavily against her, panting, legs weak and trembling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slowly his senses returned. He could hear his own heavy breathing in the quiet of the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He winced. His fingers were clutching the soft cheeks of her ass so hard he was bound to leave bruises. He loosened his fingers, one by one. It was surprisingly hard to do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He slipped out of her. He didn’t want to, but it had to be done. She’d be sore, and the rubber would start leaking soon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He also found when he lifted his head that he’d been sucking on her neck so hard while coming he’d left a hickey.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He should be ashamed. He should. But he wasn’t. It looked just fine on her neck, like a little brand left by him. Like a little message to the world.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stroked his scarred cheek lovingly, and answered in return, “Mine.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
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